


Mirrors

by greensearcher



Category: Beauty and the Beast (1991), Beauty and the Beast (2017), Beauty and the Beast - All Media Types
Genre: Action/Adventure, Adam's parents - Freeform, Angst, Drama, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Pining, Romance, Slow Burn, tragic backstories
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-02
Updated: 2018-07-22
Packaged: 2018-09-21 11:44:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 27
Words: 276,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9547691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greensearcher/pseuds/greensearcher
Summary: Everyone knows the Beast was selfish and unkind—which, of course, is exactly what a jealous enchantress would want the world to think. An AU in which young Adam was an innocent victim caught up in his father's past mistakes, and Belle a willing presence seeking to repay her own father's debt. And with a vengeful witch on the loose, Gaston is the least of their worries.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: The Beauty & the Beast world and characters are owned by Disney. No money is made by writing and publishing this fanfiction.

The young prince woke to creaking floors. His eyes shot open, chest heaving as he sat up and blinked against the darkness. He could hear the curtains brush against the ground, the cool nighttime winds sending a chill up his spine.

"H-hello?" he whispered anxiously.

Nothing replied. Calming down a bit, the ten year-old laid back down, pulling the heavy covers up to his chin and convincing himself it was only his imagination.

He was nearly asleep again when a raspy breath rang out from the silent room.

"My _, my,_ what a handsome child."

The boy froze in fear, suddenly bathed in sweat as the sick voice hung in the quiet air. _This is just a bad dream,_ he told himself, pulling the covers further over his head, eyes squeezed shut as he tried to will the terrible presence away.

"Now, is that any way to greet the great Enchantress of the East?"

The prince's eyes flew open beneath the covers at the revelation. _No, it couldn't be her—_

His heart nearly stopped as a heavy _something_ settled at the edge of the bed, the covers flying back and exposing the boy to the cold air and an enormous woman glaring down at him.

She was, by any standard, beautiful—bright, ruby eyes; flawless skin that glowed in the moonlight; lips red as the roses woven throughout her white-gold hair.

Yet to the child, she was terror incarnate.

"Prince _Adam,"_ she hummed, words sliding off her tongue, her hand reaching out to caress his face. "We finally meet." Adam pressed himself against the bedframe, heart caught in his throat as her sharp nails ran along his cheek. He could feel the hairs on the back of his neck as they stood on end, feel her hot breath falling in waves over his skin.

"Goodness, you _do_ look like your father," she hummed, licking her lips as she looked him over. She suddenly frowned, the mirth fading from her gaze. "Except your eyes. Those are _hers,"_ she snarled, nose wrinkling in disgust.

"H-help," Adam finally choked out, swallowing roughly as he mustered all the courage he could. "Guards! _HELP!"_

The witch only smirked as heavy footfalls echoed from the hall, two sentries charging into the large room moments later. They pointed their spears at the intruder, eyes growing wide in fear as she slowly turned towards them.

"It's the witch!" the first barked.

"We can't let her— _aaargh!"_ the other cried, both guards quaking in agony as their bodies slowly shrunk into nothingness. Their spears crashed to the floor, and seemed to tremble against the stone in rebellion.

The enchantress pulled her hand back, examining her nails before glancing in amusement at the young prince. He stared in horror at the spot the men had just stood, eyes growing wet with tears.

"Not very hospitable of you, Prince Adam," she tut-tutted. "Surely you can give a poor woman shelter from the _bitter cold,"_ she continued, voice dripping like acid as she pulled one of the roses from her hair. She held it out to him, expression growing strangely soft as she leaned closer. Adam felt his eyes grow suddenly heavy as the flower's scent overwhelmed him.

"A gift, child," she whispered softly, and he'd nearly given in to the spell when his father's warning flashed in his mind.

 _"Beware the offering of a witch, my son,"_ he'd told him. _"_ _I would not have you repeat my mistakes."_

Adam shook his head roughly, throwing out a small hand at the rose, sharp thorns cutting into his skin. It flew from the witch's fingertips, petals scattering along the ground. Adam clenched his fist, ignoring the blood against his palm.

"Y-you—you aren't allowed here," he rasped, grinding his teeth in anger. "My father banished you!"

Her crimson eyes grew suddenly dark, cheeks sinking in as she barred her teeth. "How… _dare_ you," she growled, hair losing its luster, skin growing patchy and rough in the shadows. _"You,_ the filthy mark of his betrayal?!" she nearly screamed, thin fingers curling around his neck. "Like your father had any right, any _power,_ to banish _me."_

Adam couldn't reply, hands tugging at her fingers as he gasped for breath.

"As much as you tempt me…I'm not, in fact, here to kill _you,"_ she conceded, releasing him and snatching his wrist in one cold grip as she rose to her full height. Her head nearly skimmed the tall ceilings, hair flowing around her shoulders as she dragged him towards the door.

"W-where are you taking me?" Adam asked, tugging in vain against her hold.

She leaned down slowly, fingers trailing through his hair as she smiled once again. Her beauty had returned, though the darkness remained in her eyes. "You, little one, are going to make my task much, much simpler tonight."


	2. Chapter 1

**_Ten years later_ **

"—and although he had everything his heart desired, the prince was spoiled, selfish and unkind," an old woman rasped, a dozen children and a crowd of weary workers gathered around her in the busy square. She grinned beneath her cloak, holding up a finger as she continued the tale. "But then, one winter's night, an old beggar woman came to the door and offered him a single rose in return for shelter from the bitter cold—"

"Excuse me," someone interrupted. "But why would a prince be answering the door when he had a castle full of servants to do so?"

The small crowd parted, revealing a young woman in the back, head cocked as she waited for her answer.

The storyteller frowned. "Well, I—I'm not sure, my dear, but—"

"And why would she ask the prince?" the girl asked curiously. "Where were the king and queen?"

By now, the old woman's eye was twitching in annoyance. "Why don't we just let the children enjoy the tale," she said through gritted teeth.

"Yeah Belle, don't you have somewhere to be?" one of the men scoffed.

"No," she replied honestly, settling down to listen against the edge of the fountain.

A bead of sweat fell down the old storyteller's face. She cleared her throat. "Repulsed by her haggard appearance," she continued, "the prince sneered at the gift and turned the old woman away. To his dismay, the old woman's ugliness melted away to reveal a _beautiful_ enchantress." The children laughed as the women framed her wrinkled face in imitation. "The prince tried to apologize," she went on, "but it was too late, for she had seen that there was no love in his heart. As punishment, she transformed him into a hideous beast and placed a powerful spell on the castle and all who lived there—"

"Seems a little harsh," Belle muttered to herself, unaware as the crowd turned back towards her in exasperation. "I mean—how old was this prince, anyway?" she asked, a hand to her temple as she mused aloud, eyes fixed to the ground.

"My dear."

"And to punish everyone else for his mistake? What did _they_ have to do with it?"

"My _dear."_

"Frankly, it sounds like this woman was just trying to cause troub—" Belle finally looked up, cheeks flushing a bit as she noticed the irritated glares from the crowd around her. She cleared her throat and shrugged. "Just wondering."

"Young lady, it's only a tale," the woman said, patience entirely gone as she scowled over the heads around them.

Belle pouted a bit, hopping off the ledge and skirting around the group. _It'd be better if it were more believable,_ she thought to herself, making her way down the closest alleyway, ignoring the chattering voices behind her.

Tucking herself in the shadows, Belle leaned against the crumbling building and sighed for a long moment before pulling herself atop a nearby crate. Tugging a book from her satchel, she let the words consume her as she tried to forget for just a moment the reality awaiting her at home.

"Aw, if it isn't my favorite little bookworm."

The pages crinkled beneath her thumb as she looked up, half a dozen men hobbling towards her from the street. They smelled of ale.

"I'm just on my way to relieve my father," she started anxiously, tucking the book away and moving towards the opposite end of the street.

A rough hand grabbed her wrist, holding her in place. "You didn't seem in much of a hurry a minute ago," a rough voice spoke, dark eyes lusting down at her.

"Please, Gaston. My mother will be needing her medicine soon."

 _"Poor_ Belle," Gaston said, not a hint of sympathy in his voice. "Too bad there isn't a strong, wealthy man offering his hand. I'm sure such a fellow could more than offset dear Mother's doctor bills."

Belle frowned as the men behind them laughed.

"Oh, wait! There is," he grinned, voice dripping with intoxication as he ran dirty fingers over her jaw. She held her breath, looking away as he leaned closer. "Come _on,_ what do you say?" he asked, cocking his head at her.

 _Does he have to ask every day?_ she thought irritably, tugging in vain against his hold. The thing that frightened her, however, was that the sicker Maman got, the more tempting his offer became. She shook her head against those thoughts. "Again, Gaston, _no_. Now please, I need to return home." Slipping from his loosened grip, she sprinted into the darkness.

"You'll change your mind!" Gaston called out over the guffaws behind them, ragged feet shuffling back towards the bar.

Belle ran the rest of the length of the village, ignoring the skeptical glances and trying to wipe his invisible touch away. And though she knew it unlikely, she could swear the smell of alcohol still lingered on her clothes.

The quiet chirping of the forest was a welcome relief to the evening streets, and she allowed her pace to slow as she climbed the tall slope towards their home along the outskirts of town. A single candle burned in the window—the signal that Maman was asleep. Creeping quietly around back, she quickly rinsed her face and hands in the water barrel before slipping quietly into the house. It was strangely bare—the last unnecessary pieces of furniture recently sold in a desperate effort to pay off the ever-staggering bills from the local medicine man.

Belle squeezed her eyes shut in the darkness, trying to push the unhappy thoughts aside. Her empty stomach was enough to distract her, and she rummaged in one of the remaining cupboards for some supper. She took a meager portion of bread and cheese, careful to leave enough for Papa before moving quietly towards where her mother slept.

To her surprise, it was not Papa, but a neighbor who sat by the bedside. The older woman's eyes were closed, chest rising and falling soundly.

"Madame Genevieve?" Belle whispered, touching her neighbor's shoulder. "…Madame, I'm back."

The woman woke slowly, cracking her neck before heaving herself out of the seat. "Oh, bonjour. I'm sorry—must've dozed off."

"It's no trouble. Where's my father?"

"Left not an hour ago—said he had business in the east."

Belle furrowed her brows. "That's all he told you?"

"Mm," the woman affirmed, pulling on her cloak. "Well, I best be on my way then. Need to get supper on the table."

Digging her arm against her own growling stomach, Belle nodded. "Of course. Mer—" she started, watching the door shut quickly behind the woman as she hurried away. "…ci."

Belle frowned as she stood alone in the darkness, the only light in the room from the candle beside her mother's bed. She knew their neighbors were growing weary of helping. It had been like this for over a year—she couldn't blame them.

Besides, it's not like hers was the only family who was hungry.

Sitting beside the bed, Belle reached out to hold her mother's hand, watching as the early moonlight poured in on them from the open window. Perhaps a stranger would have thought Maman looked peaceful, but Belle new better, noticing the uneven rise and fall of her chest as she slept, hearing the quiet rasping of her forced breaths. She swallowed roughly, the fear she'd kept buried for months suddenly manifesting with no one to see. Maman was going to die—she knew it, even if she wouldn't admit it, and she knew the only chance they had of preventing it was to get her to Paris to see a true physician.

But, of course, there was only one way they could afford it.

"Maybe…maybe I _should_ marry him," she told the darkness, hating herself for even considering it. A life with Gaston could only mean one thing—a life of subjugation, lost dreams…and most certainly abuse.

But what else was she to do?

* * *

"Master?"

"Mmm?" the Beast mumbled, only half listening. The fur from his chin brushed the pages as he read, eyes squinting against the fast-approaching twilight.

"Master, th-there's…someone here," the servant said, clearing his throat anxiously and swiveling around as if expecting the intruder to be at the door.

The Beast's mind was still trapped in the author's world, a place where he didn't have to remember the monster he'd become. It took him a few moments before he looked up. "Oh, Cogsworth. My apologies…how can I help you?"

The little mantle clock's hands were spinning at a nervous pace. "Master, there's…well, we believe there's a _thief_ in the castle."

The master furrowed his brows for a long, confused moment before his eyes grew wide. "What? But…how did they get in?" He hopped off the balcony ledge, tossing the book aside as he moved quickly into the hall. "Did we leave the gates open? Dieu," he swore. "It's been years since—how did they—never mind," he huffed, stopping as he realized he had no idea where to go. Cogworth caught up to him a moment later, completely breathless.

"Master," he panted, pointing in the opposite direction. "He's…in the…kitchens."

The Beast swallowed roughly. "All right. I'll go down. Has he seen anyone?"

Cogsworth looked even more anxious. "N-no one… _moving,_ my lord." He swallowed. "B-but…there wasn't—exactly—time for anyone to leave."

The Beast felt his chest grow tight as he leapt over the railing and slid quickly, if ungracefully, down the long curtains to the ground floor below. He sprinted on all fours towards the southern wing, bounding down the stairs to the dark kitchen below.

A single candle burned in the darkness, its flames flickering nervously in the quiet room.

 _Lumiere,_ he realized, walking over and picking him up gently. "Where?" the master breathed, the one-word question hovering quietly in the air. He felt the brass in his hands nudge him towards the storage room. Moving closer, he could hear the quiet stacking of dishes from the other side of the closed door.

Pushing his way quickly inside, the Beast stared in fury at a dark figure in the shadows, several stacks of fine china being loaded inside a wicker basket. His animal-like hearing caught the sounds of silverware trembling in their drawers, of plates quaking fearfully in the thief's dirty hands. The intruder looked up in alarm, gasping in terror at the monster in the doorway.

"What are you _doing?"_ the master snarled, taking two long steps towards him.

The man was unable to respond aside from a few choked cries as he backed against the wall. The Beast broke out in a sweat as it was clear the man could very well drop the plates in surprise. Rushing over, the Beast grabbed the tableware away as the man fell to the ground in a pathetic heap. Exhaling in relief, he set his servants carefully in a cupboard before leaning over and gathering a handful of the thief's cloak in one paw.

"W-w-what _are_ you?!" the man finally blurted out, staring up at him in horror.

"I am the master of this castle," the Beast said darkly, feeling the anger build up in his chest. "And I do _not_ tolerate thieves of any kind here."

"I didn't realize—I thought it was abandoned," the man confessed, still shaking in fear **.**

The master's frown deepened. "You thought that as you broke through the gates?" he asked skeptically.

Realizing he'd been caught in a lie, the man began to beg. "P-please… _please,"_ he whispered, tears forming in his eyes as he wrung his hands together. "My wife—she's very ill. I've—I've sold everything I can trying to afford her care. But we can't survive another winter and continue to pay for…" he trailed off, looking miserable.

The Beast only stared at him, distracted. He hadn't seen human expression in so _long._ The man's misery was overwhelming to witness, and almost…frightening.

Forcing himself in the present, he thought for several long minutes as the man wept, wishing he could consult with the others. Of course, they knew not to let outsiders see them move or speak. It was risky enough letting the man see 'the Beast' at all. They certainly didn't want more curious, or violent, intruders.

The master finally sighed. "I cannot give my— _possessions—_ away freely," he said, the word choice poor but necessary. "Especially these. This set is very, um, special to me," he continued awkwardly, glancing back at the cupboards. "But I can pay you—with old coin, but it should still suffice—and only if you provide me service in return." He would have liked to just give the man money and be rid of him, but it wouldn't do to spread word that the castle was suddenly a place for free handouts.

Especially if people expected those handouts to include the fine china still trembling in fear behind them.

The Beast looked the man over—his tall, worn boots were caked with mud, and a wide-brimmed hat hung by a string around his neck. _A farmer?_ "Have you any experience with horses? We could use a stableman," he offered.

The man looked at him as if seeing him for the first time. "This is a generous offer…my lord," he said slowly, looking troubled. "But…I cannot be away from my family too long. She's—she's nearly gone as things are," he said, no longer appearing so sad as he did a man who'd completely given up. "Our local healer can do nothing more. We must take Soleil to the city if there's any hope for her recovery." He stopped, bowing his head hopelessly.

The master's heart clenched in his chest as he thought of his own mother. "You said you had children?" he asked.

"One, my lord."

The Beast glanced away, trying and failing to detach this child's experience with his own from so long ago. "All right," he conceded, sighing deeply. "All right." He turned and moved towards the door. The man stayed on the ground for a long, puzzled moment before scrambling to his feet and following the castle's master out the door and up the long stairwell.

Without looking back, the Beast instructed him carefully. "You have been working here for many months now."

"I—what?"

"And I am simply compensating you for your service," he continued, reaching the top and guiding them towards one of the offices in the southern wing. He heard the man gasp quietly behind him, finally putting the pieces together.

"…Yes, my lord. Of course," the father replied, a silent agreement that the Beast's liberality not be mentioned outside the walls.

A half hour later, the man finished securing two large bags of coin to his saddle, cheeks wet with gratitude as he offered a silent bow and climbed atop his horse. As the animal's clattering steps faded in the night air, the master allowed a myriad of feelings to flood his chest.

"That was very kind of you, my lord," Lumiere said, finally turning towards him from his hand.

 _"Dangerous_ would be more accurate," a fretful voice echoed from open doorway behind them. "He tried to _steal_ from you, Master," Cogsworth said in disapproval.

"And nearly gave Mrs. Potts a heart attack," the candlestick grinned.

"Lumiere, I don't believe that's possible given our current condition."

"Oh, hush."

"All I'm saying is, this could come back to hurt us," Cogsworth finished anxiously.

The Beast pursed his lips. "I know. It was foolish, and I'm sorry for putting you all in danger," he said quietly, brows furrowing as the real implication of his generosity set in. Would other humans find out about them now? Would they come seeking riches? He knew he couldn't care for all of northern France, as much as he would have liked to—or as much as he _should_ have been, had things turned out differently. "But…he seemed a good man, just desperate. I believe this is the last we'll hear of this," the master said decidedly, effectively ending the conversation.

Little did he realize that he would hear more of it quite soon.

* * *

"Papa! Where have you been?"

Maurice slid off the horse, the only work animal they had left, letting his daughter wrap two fretful arms around him where he stood. "I was worried _sick,"_ she murmured into his coat before pulling back. "Are you hurt? Were you lost? Sacrebleu, were you attacked?! Or—"

He put a finger to her lips. "Belle, you really do ask a lot of questions," he smiled.

She grinned a little sheepishly. "But not _too_ many."

"Never too many," he agreed, giving her a wink.

She looked at him strangely for a long moment, undoubtedly curious not only about his disappearance but about his suddenly lightened spirits. He let her wait a long minute, watching from the corner of his eye as she bounced her knee and chewed her lip in anticipation. The girl's curiosity never did die down, even as she entered early womanhood.

He hoped it never did.

Pulling the bags of currency off Philippe's back, Maurice handed one to his daughter. "Take a look," he said eagerly.

She undid the strings in haste, tugging the corners of the pouch open and looking inside. Her eyes grew wide, but instead of joy, she looked upset. "Papa…where did you get this?" she asked, face streaked with worry as she looked up at him.

"God has blessed us, my child," he said, holding the other bag to his chest.

She frowned further. "Papa, _where_ did you get this?" she repeated.

He sighed. "It was a gift, Belle."

"A…gift," she said slowly, clearly unconvinced.

"From a generous overlord I met on my travels," he assured her.

"A generous overlord? In the middle of the forest?"

He remained quiet, unpacking Philippe and handing her the reigns as he hauled his packs over his back.

"And you're sure you didn't steal it?" she asked, still looking at him skeptically.

Maurice shook his head, swallowing the tinge of guilt at knowing he had _tried_ to steal from their benefactor. That the trip's entire purpose had been to steal from a distant village and escape before their local authorities could catch him. His own innate curiosity, leading him down that hidden, shady fork in the road, had merely been a stroke of good luck.

"But who would give you so much?" Belle went on. "Papa…this could feed us for months." She glanced at the second bag he held, eyes growing wide. "For _years."_

"Or take your mother to Paris."

She stopped breathing for a moment, reality sinking in. "Papa…" It was all she could say, looking like the world had been lifted from her shoulders. Maurice was glad of it—no one her age deserved such a burden as she'd been feeling recently.

"Papa," she managed again, swallowing slowly. "Where did you meet this man?"

He only shrugged, anxious to avoid an explanation. In truth, he was still a bit shaken up from the encounter himself. Belle tied Philippe up quickly and was soon at his heels as he moved towards the house.

"Well then, how was your journey?" she asked casually, as if nothing were amiss.

Maurice raised a brow at her change of subject. "It was fine—"

"Did you stay at the Forêt Inn?"

"…No," Maurice replied slowly.

"Oh! So you must have taken the Southern Pass."

"No, I took the Northern, I just bypassed the narrows instead of—" He stopped abruptly, noticing Belle's eyes shining with achievement. "All right, I take back what I said earlier. That's too many questions," he huffed, nervous he'd already given too much away.

By the look of triumph on her face, he was suddenly certain he had.

"Belle," he said sternly.

"What?" she asked in innocence.

"Belle, it doesn't matter where the money came from," he said firmly. "It's going to get your mother better, and that's what's important."

Her expression softened, and she nodded in agreement. Relaxing a little, Maurice led her into the house to tell Soleil the good news.

* * *

"Goodbye, Maman," Belle whispered, kissing her pale forehead and holding back tears. "I love you."

"Love you too," her mother said quietly. "Please, _please_ stay safe."

"I will," Belle promised.

"Maurice…are you sure she'll be all right?" her mother asked, before starting into a fresh coughing fit. Belle's father propped his wife up in his lap as they sat in the back of the crowded wagon, pulling another blanket over her.

"She's a smart girl. And she's got Max here to keep guard," he assured her. "Right, boy?"

The large, brown-gray mutt gave a loud bark in reply, unable to contain his excitement at the presence of so many newcomers as he ran circles around the wagon. Belle caught the driver grumble irritably that they ought to be leaving soon.

"Papa's right," Belle told her mother. "And who else will take care of Max and Philippe while you're gone?"

Maman gave her a worried smile. "All right. I'll try to get better soon so you're not alone too long."

Belle nodded bravely, though they both knew it would be several months at least before they'd see one another again. Pursing her lips to keep the tears a bay a little longer, Belle gave her mother's hand one long squeeze and let Papa plant a kiss on her temple. With a crack of a whip, the driver sent his team of horses forward onto the dusty road.

"Au revoir!" Belle called out, waving for as long as the wagon was in sight. _She's going to get better,_ she told herself as the wagon crested the hill. _I'm going to see her again._

A few minutes later, Belle brushed her eyes against her sleeve, took a deep breath, and got to work.

It only took a few hours to brush down Philippe, give Max a much needed bath, and clean up their small home. She packed away her parent's bed and rearranged what little furniture remained to her liking before taking a well-deserved break for lunch.

Another couple hours passed, and she'd finished the book she'd lent from town the day before and found herself on the rooftop, gazing over the valley with an old sketchbook in hand, trying to squeeze one more drawing in the corner of one of the crowded pages.

Not another hour went by and she sighed deeply. _I'm bored,_ she realized, blowing a few strands of hair out of her eyes. She wasn't used to such empty days—for months she'd been putting almost all her effort into her mother's care, and now…now she felt oddly useless. She gazed over the open valley, wondering what lie beyond its edges. Wondering what kind of place her father had gone where overlords handed out bags of money like pocket change.

_"Belle, it doesn't matter where the money came from."_

Belle tilted her head as she thought. _It may not matter,_ she thought mischievously. _But I'd sure like to find out anyway._


	3. Chapter 2

"I wouldn't go that way, if I were you."

Belle turned back in her saddle, spotting a middle-aged couple and a wagonload of children up along the main trail. "Oh, um, why not?" she asked, staring back at the dark path before her. It did look a bit shadowy and somewhat… _abandoned,_ perhaps, but that hadn't been enough to discourage her.

"Don't you know anything, girl?" the husband called down to her. "That part of the forest is forbidden. _Cursed,_ by the devil himself!"

 _"…Really,"_ Belle replied, raising a brow.

"King Victor's own orders, not a decade ago. Surely you knew?"

Belle only shrugged. "I don't come by this way much, monsieur," she explained, sighing. "I suppose I better turn around then."

The man huffed in agreement, though his wife smiled down to her. "Need help finding your way, dear?" she asked kindly, a small child waving from her lap.

Belle smiled. "No, I should be all right. Merci!" she waved back, waiting as the family and their wagon disappeared along the trail. As soon as they had, she nudged Philippe forward on the dark path. The horse looked back at her irritably, eyes dancing towards the main road up above before staring back at her.

"We're not going back there yet, Philippe," she told him cheerfully, giving him a small kick.

A strange look of disapproval crossed the animal's face as he remained defiantly in place.

"Oh, I know I fibbed a bit. But if there's some strange overlord living in these woods…I have a feeling a 'cursed forest' is exactly where he'd be," she grinned.

Philippe huffed loudly, but finally obeyed, moving reluctantly into the forbidden forest.

* * *

"But should we really be so dismissive of outsiders, Cogsworth?"

"What could you possibly mean?" the clock huffed.

"I mean…how else is the master to meet a _girl?"_ the candle asked earnestly. "He's twenty now. There isn't much time left."

"Lumiere, do you really still think that's going to happen at this point—" He stopped, cogs whirling anxiously as a large presence entered the room. "M-Master!" he said, wringing two brass hands together as the Beast approached.

"At ease, Cogsworth. You'll wind yourself up too tight one of these days if you can't relax," his master said offhandedly, leaning against the window frame and looking out over the forest, the early morning sunlight cascading over the changing leaves.

Lumiere cleared his throat, hopping over beside the Beast quietly. "Master, I was _just_ telling Cogsworth that perhaps we should reconsider our, eh, closed-door policy." The master looked back at him, raising one large, furry brow. "I mean, perhaps if that man were to ever return, we could see if he knows any, um…" Lumiere paused, realizing the uncomfortable topic he'd breeched. "You know, any—"

"Women?" the Beast finished for him. Lumiere smiled a little sheepishly, but the master only rolled his eyes as he padded over towards the fire. "And what am I to say? _Oh by the way, monsieur, if you know any young ladies with a bestiality complex, please send them my way,"_ he mocked sarcastically. In response, a quiet snort could be heard from one of the coat racks in the corner. Cogsworth glared in that direction, hollow eyes narrowing in disapproval. The Beast didn't seem to notice, not even laughing at his own jab as he leaned against the mantle and stared into the flames.

"I'm going to the stables," he huffed a minute later, shoving his paws into his pockets before moving quietly out of the room.

Outside, the autumn air was brisk and refreshing, and the Beast filled his large lungs with it as he padded quietly towards the barn. He tried to focus on the feeling of the wind in his fur, the forest leaves floating over the outer wall, anything but the tightness in his chest that never seemed to go away. Soaking in the reds and oranges around him, he nearly missed the spot of blue near the gates. Glancing over, he saw an auburn horse and a rider in a long, dark cloak. Before he could react, the man pulled back his hood, flowing brown hair falling around his should—

The Beast froze, eyes growing wide. That was no man.

 _Oh, Dieu. It's happening to me too,_ he thought anxiously, sprinting back on all fours to the castle and taking refuge in the kitchens.

"Master! What in heaven's name," Mrs. Potts started, hopping beside him. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

"I'm hallucinating," he said under his breath, not daring to look behind him as he pressed his back against the kitchen door. "M-Mrs.…Mrs. Potts, I believe I'm going mad."

"Going—oh nonsense," she chuckled. "I do beg your pardon, but are you sure you're not being a tad dramatic, my lord?"

"But didn't...didn't my mother see things, before she…" he trailed off, breaking out in a nervous sweat as he pressed himself against the door, squeezing his eyes shut.

Mrs. Potts looked suddenly nervous herself, though she continued calmly. "Just try to breathe, love. It was probably just a trick of the light, that's all."

The Beast shook his head. "No, no I saw—I _swear_ I saw—"

"A girl!" a small voice shouted. They both looked over, little Chip peeking out the window before smiling back at them. "Mama, there's a _human girl_ outside—just like in my picture books!"

The room suddenly filled with cries of alarm and excitement as dozens of dishes, cups, spoons, and every other mobile item in the vicinity rolled towards the window for a peek. The master found himself frozen in place, unbreathing as they all confirmed what he'd seen with cries of joy.

"W-what do I— _what do I do?!"_ he cried, the relief that he hadn't imagined the woman suddenly overpowered by the fact that she was really there.

"Well, _go talk to her!"_ someone exclaimed, to the fervent agreement of the others.

"O-okay," he agreed, sucking in a determined breath before groaning. _"Talk_ to her? Look at me! I'll just scare her off—"

"Hello?" a pleasant voice rang out, much closer than expected. "Is anyone there?"

"Oh, sacre Dieu," the Beast swore, tugging at the roots of the fur atop his head. As the footfalls outside moved closer, he swallowed roughly, gathering up all the courage he could muster before brushing off his jacket and moving slowly out the door—to the silent cheers of the kitchen staff.

He paused in his tracks as he spotted her, several paces away. She had dismounted the horse, currently focused on loosening the saddle from around the animal's belly. The Beast couldn't help but stare—she was extremely thin, cheeks sunk in as if she hadn't eaten well in weeks. However, her face was flushed with exercise and he couldn't help but think she was the most beautiful sight he'd ever seen.

 _Calm down,_ he told himself. _You're just not used to seeing humans—_

His thoughts were interrupted as the horse spotted him, neighing sharply and kicking its legs in a violent fear. The girl looked up, eyes growing wide as she covered her mouth in shock.

"B-Bonjour," he called out quickly. She'd already mounted the horse again, but turned back suddenly when he spoke.

"You can—" She stopped, still backing the steed up several paces but not taking her eyes off him. "I-I'm sorry. I believe, perhaps, I'm hallucinating," she said nervously, knuckles growing white as she gripped the reigns tightly.

The master might have laughed, had it not been such nerve-wracking encounter—to think he'd had the same reaction when seeing her. "I'm afraid you're not hallucinating," he said instead, with some uneasiness. He lifted a paw to rub the back of his neck, but stopped when she flinched, pulling the horse back another few paces. "Sorry," he said quickly, lowering his arm and holding his paws behind his back in an attempt to appear less threatening. "Can I—can I help you, mademoiselle?"

She stared at him for a long moment, mouth opening and closing before opening again to reply. "To be honest…I was looking for the overlord. I believe my father received a generous gift from him."

"I'm the master here," the Beast answered absently, before his mouth fell open. "Wait—that was _your_ father?"

"That was _you?"_ she breathed in shock. "No wonder Papa wouldn't…" She trailed off, and to the Beast's surprise was suddenly dismounting the horse and falling to one knee. "We—we owe you a great debt, my lord," she said, head bowed low. "And I am here to repay it."

The master cringed in discomfort. "Oh, no…I mean," he started, digging a foot in the wet grass. "It was a gift. You—you don't owe me anything—"

"I could serve as a stable hand," she went on, looking back up.

He raised his brows in surprise. "You?"

She stood again, cocking her head at him. "I know I don't look it, but I know what I'm doing," she said firmly. "I'm a farmer's daughter, and I've cared for horses my entire life."

"O-of course, I didn't mean—" the Beast stopped, overwhelmed by her offer. He should insist it was unnecessary, should tell her the donation was no trouble, but he also knew this may be the only chance he had. No, it _would_ be the only chance he had, that much was certain. It was a slim gamble at best, and he couldn't help but wonder if it wouldn't be worse to raise false hopes instead of simply sending the girl away now.

He glanced back at the castle, full of the people he felt responsible for. A terrible guilt tugged at his chest at his own pessimism. He couldn't give up on them that easily, could he?

"…We _could_ use your help, to be honest," he agreed at last. "I…I would be grateful for your service."

To his surprise, she smiled. He felt his cheeks growing warm, for the first time in his life thankful his face was covered in fur so she couldn't see him blushing. He shook his head. "However," he added quickly. "You must agree to one thing."

She furrowed her brows, though the smile didn't leave her eyes.

"You must make a promise not to divulge the secrets of this castle," he said seriously, realizing there was no way she could spend so much time here _without_ discovering the truth about the others.

Her eyes grew bright. "Secrets?" she asked curiously. "You mean, besides…" she trailed off, realizing her mistake.

"Me?" he asked, raising a brow.

She looked a bit sheepish, but just nodded.

"Yes. I'm not the only strange thing about this place," he said, surprised by his own openness. He cleared his throat. "In that case, do you…agree?"

She nodded again. "Yes, I agree. You have my word."

He stared at her for a long moment, still completely perplexed by the oddity of it all. He was so lost in thought he didn't realize they'd been sitting in silence for nearly a minute.

"So…" she continued at last, looking almost… _amused._ "Should I just—"

"Ah! Yes. Um, let me show you the stables," he said dumbly, clearing his throat as he moved across the field, trying to stop his heart from pounding in his chest. He heard her horse huffing irritably as the girl followed.

"Quiet, Philippe," she said under her breath. "Be polite."

The Beast suddenly realized he hadn't asked a crucial question. He stopped, glancing behind him. "My apologies…but I don't know your name."

"It's Belle," she said simply.

 _Belle,_ he repeated in his mind. _Beautiful._ It certainly seemed fitting.

"And yours, my lord?" she continued.

The master swallowed roughly; he hadn't gone by his name in years. It didn't seem to belong to him anymore. "I…don't have one," he said quietly.

"But you must have a—"

"I don't have one," he repeated, feeling strangely upset. "Not anymore."

She narrowed her eyes, but didn't press the issue further. Something told him, however, it wasn't the last he'd hear of it.

As they entered the stables, a few brushes and buckets lay scattered haphazardly along the ground, their human occupants no doubt surprised at the sudden guest. He heard a bucket rolling along the ground in the back.

Belle frowned, squinting into the shadows. "Is there no one else here?" she asked in confusion.

"Mmm, well that's the thing," he started, unsure how to broach the subject. After a moment, he decided a direct approach was probably best at this point. "It's all right," he called to the seemingly empty barn. "You can show yourselves."

He sensed the girl glance at him strangely before gasping in alarm. Brushes slowly rose off the ground, rakes rising from their places against the wall, a bucket falling onto its side and rolling towards them. Deep voices rang from the assorted objects as they each gave bows in their own way.

"My lord."

"Master."

The Beast heard several quiet whispers of surprise, but ignored them as he turned to Belle. She was staring wide-eyed at the scene, mouth ajar in utter shock.

"This is the stable crew," the Beast explained a little awkwardly, clearing his throat as he began the introductions. "André, Damien, Juste," he started, naming off of few more of them before pointing to the bucket at his feet. "And this is Aimé."

"Master! Who's this?" the object asked, the voice of a teenager ringing from the hollow object.

"This is Belle," he answered. "She's offered to help us with the animals for a while."

The excitement in the barn was palpable, several of the stable hands moving towards the young woman and introducing themselves personally. Belle took it all with impressive graciousness, though she seemed even paler by the end than when she'd seen the Beast.

"All right—everyone back to work," an old rake huffed, motioning for the others to follow him back to their workstations.

"I…I understand now what you meant by secrets," Belle said quietly, swaying a bit on her feet as she reached for the wall.

The Beast suppressed a smile. "I'm afraid that's only a few of them, mademoiselle."

Belle looked out the barn door, eyes scanning the castle as if finally taking in its enormity _. "Oh."_

* * *

The master groaned. He should have _known_ coming to the kitchens was a bad idea.

Belle had barely stepped a foot in the door when the room erupted in excitement, several dozen objects swarming her and pulling her into the warm room.

"Bonjour!"

"Mademoiselle, welcome!"

"I _told_ you she was pretty—"

"Come, come! There's room here by the fire—"

"My dear, you're half- _starved!_ Someone roll over to the pantry and tell the boys to slice into that summer sausage—"

"Isn't she lovely?"

"Goodness, travelling all this way without a bite to eat?"

"Make way, make way—let her sit, for heaven's _sake—"_

"—and a spot of warm tea will go nicely with—"

"Sit here, mademoiselle. I don't mind!"

"No, sit here, my cushions are _much_ nicer—"

"Auguste, throw another log in the pit, she'll catch her death!"

"Master?"

The Beast was watching as Belle fell out of sight behind the crowds as more servants spilled in from the hall and rolled out of the cupboards. It seemed everyone was trying to get as close as possible, offering her an assortment of treats and hot beverages and covering her shoulders with several heavy blankets despite it having barely turned to autumn.

"My lord."

He was starting to grow anxious, but stopped when a new, pleasant laugh rang out from amid the commotion. The Beast felt the corner of his mouth curling up at the sound.

 _"Master_ …if you wouldn't mind?"

He shook his head, looking down at Mrs. Potts who stared pointedly at the wide open door beneath his paw as it let the cool afternoon air into the room. "Ah, sorry," he mumbled, shutting it quickly behind him and staying out of everyone's way in the shadows.

Since clearly, no one had any intention to serve _him_ at the moment.

* * *

It took nearly three hours for Cogsworth to get enough of them cleared out that Belle could escape.

"My apologies for the staff," the master said uncomfortably as they emerged back into the early evening air. "It's been a while since we've seen a—" He swallowed. "Well, since we've had a guest."

"Hmm?" she said absently, in somewhat of a happy daze as she acknowledged him. "Oh, it's no trouble, my lord. Actually, I've never felt so welcomed," she said, moving to untie Philippe as they returned to the stables. The Beast stayed back several long paces, still anxious not to frighten her. Though he had to admit, she was certainly proving more unshakable than she appeared.

"You're…welcome to stay for dinner," he said belatedly, noticing again her thin arms as she fastened the saddle over the animal. He frowned, feeling suddenly responsible and wondering what kind of condition the village had fallen into since he was a boy.

"That's all right, my lord," she replied. "Papa left me some of the money you gave him. I should be able to eat well now," she said gratefully. "Besides, with him gone, I'm the only one left to tend to our home."

"Gone…?" the Beast asked curiously.

"He's taken my mother to Paris, Master. To see a physician."

"Oh, right. That's good," the Beast said sincerely. "I hope…I hope she recovers."

Belle nodded slowly, before clasping her hands together and bowing deeply. "I can't tell you how grateful I am," she said, voice suddenly hollow as though she were holding back tears. "I will do my best to serve you, but I know nothing I do can make up for your generosity."

Her sudden formality shocked him for a moment. He shook his head. "It's really all right. I would hate to see anoth—to see someone lose a mother," he said quietly, swallowing the lump in his throat.

She looked over at him, curiosity seeming to leak from her eyes as they searched his. Seeming to think the better of it—or perhaps too exhausted to inquire that evening—she sighed and pulled herself up Philippe's side.

"Will you—" He paused as she turned back, looking at his feet. Her beauty still overwhelmed him, and he doubted he would get past it anytime soon. "Are you sure you'll make it back safely? It's not a short ride to the village," he finished, glancing back up at her.

Belle's eyes softened. "Don't worry, I'll be all right. Until tomorrow, my lord," she said, giving Philippe a small kick and taking off quickly out the entrance.

The Beast moved towards the gates, securing them for the evening and watching as the spot of blue disappeared into the thick trees. He furrowed his brows, lips curling up in utter bewilderment at everything that had happened.

 _Don't get your hopes up. You're still a terrifying monster, remember?_ he told himself, though he couldn't help but smile at how quickly Belle seemed to accept him and the rest of the enchanted household. In fact, she seemed to be bursting with intrigue at it all, though he sensed some shyness had stopped her from asking too many questions.

It wasn't long before that shyness was entirely gone.

"Good morning, Master Béranger," she said brightly the next morning, already in the stables brushing down a painted mare.

"Béranger?" the Beast repeated, frowning in confusion at her greeting.

"Well, since you won't tell me your name, I figured I'd have to start guessing," she shrugged, setting down the brush and grabbing a pick as she started cleaning out the horse's hooves.

His frown deepened as he thought of the root of the name. "Do you…do you think I'm part _bear?"_ he asked incredulously.

She didn't take her eyes of her work. "Well…are you?" she asked casually.

"N— _no,"_ he said firmly. "I'm a—" He stopped as he noticed her looking at him expectantly, hazel eyes dancing in the morning light. He looked away. "Never mind. I'll be here for some time if you need anything," he said, feeling his cheeks burning yet again as he moved towards his favorite horse at the far end of the barn. The animal greeted him with familiarity, and he let it nuzzle against his shoulder.

"Isn't this exciting?" someone spoke. He looked down to see one of the brushes dancing over the stallion's coat beside him.

The Beast, embarrassed, glanced back where Belle was working. He turned back to the servant beside him. "Yes, I suppose," he admitted quietly. "But…to be honest, Damien, I don't really know what I'm doing."

"I suppose you've never had the chance to interact with the ladies, right m'lord?" the brush replied.

The master frowned. "Thank you for the reminder," he replied dryly.

"You should talk to Lumiere! He knows all about that kind of thing," the brush went on, finishing his task and scooting along to the next animal.

The Beast wrinkled his nose. As much as he trusted Lumiere, something told him getting courting advice from the candlestick would not be his best route.

"Mademoiselle, it is an honor—such an _honor,"_ a familiar voice rang out from behind him. "I do not feel we have been properly introduced—Monsieur Lumiere, at your service."

The master shook his head in chagrin. _Speak of the devil, and he shall appear,_ he recalled, watching with discomfort as Lumiere planted a waxy kiss on the girl's hand for far longer than the once-prince deemed appropriate.

"And what are you doing cooped up in here?" Lumiere asked her, in apparent shock.

"Oh, well I'm supposed to be—"

"It's a beautiful day!" Lumiere went on. "The splendors of autumn will not last long. You mustn't miss it my dear, _mustn't_ miss it."

"I guess I could take a walk during lunch," she mused.

"Heavens no, that won't do. You must take this very mare and go up to Abel's Peak—that's where you'll see the best views. Breathtaking, like nothing you've ever seen before, I _assure_ you."

"Really?" Belle asked, sounding much more eager than before.

"I swear to it," Lumiere agreed, clearly thrilled at his success. "In fact, our master knows these grounds better than anyone—I'm sure he would be happy to show you the way."

It took considerable force for the Beast not to face palm on the spot. _Could he be less subtle?_ he grimaced, wondering if Lumiere had any familiarity with the term.

"Oh," Belle said nervously. "I wouldn't want to impose on anyone…"

Reluctantly, the master realized it was time to intervene. _Of course she wouldn't want to be alone in the woods with a monster like me,_ he thought. He couldn't blame her. "Lumiere, I'm sure Belle will think on the matter," he said more gruffly than he meant to, stopping several paces away from them and giving the candlestick the side eye.

"Thank you, monsieur," Belle added politely, bowing shallowly to the small object as he hopped away, clearly believing himself victorious. Belle was quiet, unmoving as she stared at the side of the mare. "I'm not afraid," she said at last, so softly the Beast wasn't quite sure he'd heard her correctly.

"Pardon?"

"I'm not afraid of you, Master," she repeated, brushing absent fingers over the horse's coat. "I've seen how you won't come close. I just—I wanted to tell you I'm not afraid. And, well…" She finally turned towards him, meeting his eyes. "I'm sorry for how I first reacted."

The Beast stared back for a long moment. "I…it's all right," he said quietly. "You have every right to be afraid. I'm…well, I'm certainly not a common sight," he finished, looking away in shame and missing the small frown that passed over Belle's face.

They were quiet for a heartbeat before she spoke again. "Is…is the view as nice as he says?" she prodded.

He looked up. "It is," he answered honestly. Lumiere might be prone to exaggeration, but it was difficult to overstate the beauty of the valley in autumn. "I could…" He cleared his throat. "I could escort you there, I mean, i-if you wanted—"

"Only if it's not too much trouble," she said eagerly.

Though he'd been to the peak dozens of times, her enthusiasm was contagious. The Beast felt himself smile. "It's no trouble at all."

* * *

"I'm afraid I'm not doing a very good job so far repaying you."

The Beast glanced over when she spoke. Belle sat on the edge of the cliff, one leg hanging over the edge as the other was pulled against her chest, chin resting atop it as she gazed with bright eyes into the colorful valley below. Despite her apology, her expression showed little remorse at the excursion.

"It's all right—the horses haven't had a rider in a couple years now," he said belatedly, digging his bare toes—claws really—in the rough gravel where he stood. "This is doing her good," he continued, motioning to the mare tied to an old stump several paces away.

"Oh, so you had another stable hand before?"

"Mmm, no," he said uncomfortably, moving to the cliff side slowly before taking a seat a couple paces away from her. "I simply grew too…large, to ride anymore."

"Only a couple years ago?" she asked in surprise, finally tearing her eyes away from the trees below to look at him. She was quiet for a long moment. "Master…how old are you?"

"Twenty."

Her mouth fell open. "Really? I thought you were—" She stopped suddenly, biting her lip.

Unoffended, he glanced over in some amusement. "How old did you think I was?"

She shrugged. "A—a little older," she admitted vaguely, cheeks suddenly pink.

"…And you?" he asked a moment later, equally curious as he was suddenly nervous she was younger than she appeared.

"Eighteen," she smiled, looking at him curiously for a moment. "Huh," she went on quietly, looking back over the forest. They sat in silence for a long minute before she spoke again. "Are any of the others our age?" she asked at last.

The master shook his head, though his heart skipped a beat at her words. _Our_ age. Like they were part of something, together. He smiled a little stupidly, feeling a new kind of camaraderie with her as he went on. "Most of the servants were adults when—" He stopped suddenly, realizing how much he'd already given away.

"When…?" she asked innocently.

The Beast frowned. "You're trying to get information out of me, aren't you?" he asked bluntly.

She bit her lip to hide a grin. "You catch on faster than most, Master Loup."

 _"I'm not a wolf either,"_ he muttered.

"You know, this all seems very familiar," she went on, a finger to her chin as she ignored him. "Like a tale told in the village…something about an enchanted castle, and a rose, was it? Should've stayed for the end…" she mused to herself.

"A rose?" he asked in shock. "Have—have you been snooping around the West Wing?"

"No," she replied honestly. Her eyes brightened with curiosity. "What's in the West Wing?"

"…Never mind. Where did you hear this?"

She shrugged. "From an old storyteller in the village. She comes every few years with a new tale or two—"

"What did she look like?" he interrupted anxiously.

"Not to be unkind, but…" Belle paused. "Well, she's quite old, and heavily wrinkled. I haven't ever gotten a good look at her, though."

"Oh," the Beast breathed, the beautiful but terrifying face of the enchantress flashing in his mind. "All right. Perhaps it's just a coincidence."

"Is it true, then?" she asked. "Is the castle really enchanted?"

"Belle…" he deadpanned, raising a brow. "The plates _move."_

She laughed in some embarrassment. "I know, I know. It's just—it's so strange that such things could be real. Spells, enchantresses…"

The master stiffened visibly, claws digging into the soft earth where they sat, the memory of red, vengeful eyes flashing in his mind. He felt himself beginning to sweat, trying to swallow the sudden lump in his throat.

Belle went immediately silent. "My lord…I'm so sorry, did I say something—"

"It's getting late. You shouldn't travel home in the dark," he said blankly, trying to bury the old anger in his chest as he stood. She followed him slowly, mounting the mare and letting him guide the animal back down the trail.

The journey back was made in silence.

* * *

Amid regrets at his cold response to Belle that afternoon and the resurrected memories swarming his thoughts, the master did not sleep well that night.

_"P-please…let me go…"_

_The witch's nails dug into Adam's flesh as she hauled him along, his feet barely skimming the floors as they swept through the palace. He glanced around anxiously, not a soul in sight as they moved through the dark corridors. Objects lay in disarray, as if forgotten by their owners. The prince wondered in horror if they'd all been dissolved in thin air like his guards. That is, until he noticed a feather duster skirting along the carpet beside them._

_He gasped, but couldn't react further as the enchantress stopped suddenly before his father's study. She stared at the closed door, nose wrinkling in momentary disgust before her expression softened. She looked down at him. "Shall we teach your traitorous father a lesson tonight, child?"_

_Adam's eyes grew wide as he stared at the door. He wanted to cry out, to warn his father, but his chest was pulsing in such fear that the words wouldn't come. Ignoring his panic, the witch pushed open the door._

_Beside the fire, the King sat in an armchair, focused on the tome in his lap. He looked up suddenly at the intrusion, fury burning in his eyes at the sight of the woman who filled the doorway._

_"You," he snarled, throwing the book aside and reaching for the blade at his belt._

_"Uh uh uh," she tut-tutted, yanking Adam into the room beside her. "I wouldn't try that again, dear Alexandre."_

_"P-Papa," the boy finally managed, voice shaking as he fought back tears._

_The witch crouched down suddenly, sweeping her fingers over the prince's face. "Dear child, don't cry," she crooned, letting her sharp nails drag across his neck. "As long as your Papa cooperates, I'll let you live."_

_"L-leave him out of this," the king said in fear, tearing frantic eyes from his son to stare in loathing at the intruder. "He has nothing to do with this!"_

_"Oh, you're quite mistaken," the witch replied, eyes growing dark as she stood again, towering over the man before her. "He has_ _**everything** _ _to do with this."_

"Ugh," the Beast grumbled, pushing the memories away and uncurling from his position before the hearth. He'd abandoned his bed years ago—sharp claws and bedding didn't mix well, apparently, and he seemed to find the rug beside the fire much more comfortable as it was.

He frowned. _I really am an animal._ It was a thought that came again and again, like a dull, constant stab to his chest. Growling in frustration, he stood tiredly and moved into the dark castle in pursuit of the only thing that could ever distract him.

The library was dark, but for the dim glow of a dying fire. Though most of his senses were heightened in his current form, the Beast's eyes remained human—a fact which, at one time, had given him some comfort. He thought little of it now, however, besides to wonder if the added night vision wouldn't have been worth giving up the blue orbs that only reminded him of who he would never be again—

 _I'm spiraling,_ he realized abruptly, trying to stop what he knew to be a dangerous inner monologue. The darkness always made it worse, the quiet castle full of sleeping servants only enabling his mind to run away with itself. He looked around at the shelves of texts, wishing one of them might tell him how to make the knots in his chest go away. But from his knowledge of the library, such advice didn't exist.

Instead, he moved to the bookshelf near the hearth where he kept his favorite volumes, reaching for a novel that nearly fell apart in his paws. This he knew could at least distract him…even if it couldn't fix him.

* * *

Belle rode slowly through the gates the next morning, still feeling awful. It hadn't taken much contemplation on the way back the day before to realize her mistake—of course bringing up whatever enchantment had befallen the master would make him upset. It had made him…whatever he was, after all. He probably didn't appreciate the reminder.

Papa had always encouraged her to ask questions, to seek truth—that's part of why she read so much, and probably the main reason everyone in town thought her a little strange. But she was now realizing that, perhaps, some questions could hurt. She swallowed roughly as she led Philippe into the stables, determined to work extra hard that day to make up for it.

By late afternoon, she had cared for each of the dozen horses in the stable, cleaned the entire barn, and taken three of them out for long rides through the forest trails surrounding the castle. Cheeks flushed and heart pounding, she was leading the third horse back when she spotted a large figure tucked against an oak tree near the palace walls.

The Beast sat in the shade, leaning lazily against the trunk. He held a book in his hands, sweeping a page aside with the tip of one large finger. It was difficult to read his expression, though from what she could tell he seemed almost…peaceful. It was rather a strange juxtaposition to his fearsome figure.

"What are you reading?" she asked without thinking. She suddenly grimaced, wanting to smack herself. "Sorry, I ask too many questions," she backpedaled in haste, moving away. _Have you learned nothing?_ she reprimanded herself. _He's obviously enjoying his time alone. Sacrebleu, it's no wonder no one likes you in town—_

"It's fine, I don't mind," the Beast said quickly. She looked back, watching as he stood and brushed a few dry leaves from his clothes. "Here," he said kindly, holding the book out to her. Unable to resist, she took it excitedly and opened it to the title page.

Her eyes brightened further as she looked up at him. "I've never seen this book before," she breathed, looking back down and turning carefully through the next few pages with a kind of reverence.

"Really? It's one of my favorites," he answered honestly.

"You…you like to read, my lord?" she asked in surprise.

The Beast nodded. "It's…well, it's the only thing that lets me, um…"

"…escape," she finished quietly, glancing back down at the book in her hands.

When she looked back up, he was staring at her, fanged mouth hanging open a bit. "Yes," he breathed belatedly. "Yes, exactly." Seeming to come to himself again, he cleared his throat, gesturing to the novel in her hands. "…You can borrow it, if you like."

"Oh! I couldn't, Master," she said quickly. "You're in the middle of it, I can wait until you're—"

"Take it," he insisted. "I've read it a dozen times. I'd…I'd like to know what you think," he said, scratching the back of his head as he looked away.

"You would?" she asked, gazing down at the faded blue-covered novel. "No one's ever cared what I think about…" she trailed off, hugging the book to her chest as she nodded. "Thank you," she said sincerely, giving a short bow before pulling the stallion back towards the barn. She hurried to ready Philippe for the journey home, chest flooding with excitement for a night curled up with a new story.

Little did she know, she wasn't the only one feeling a warmth in their chest.


	4. Chapter 3

"Docteur Mathius…do you have a moment? I…I believe I'm growing ill."

The ear trumpet turned towards his master, humming seriously. "Mmm, well, please have a seat, my lord," he instructed. The Beast sat slowly in the armchair beside him, breathing deeply as he folded his paws in his lap.

"What are your symptoms?" the doctor asked.

"My heart's pounding—all the time," the master said nervously. "And my face feels hot and sometimes, I just can't seem to catch my breath—"

Mathius began to smile. "I see. And when did this begin?" he asked.

The Beast pursed his lips. "A few days ago."

"Ah," the ear trumpet replied stoically. "So about the time the young lady joined us."

"Yes. I suppose so," the master agreed, oblivious to the implication. "I thought it would go away, but it's only grown worse."

The doctor shouldn't have smiled so—his master seemed legitimately worried. "Well, let's have a listen. If you wouldn't mind, my lord…"

The Beast tugged open his shirt before carefully picking up the ear trumpet and pressing him against his chest. It certainly wasn't what the tool was intended for, but one had to adapt these days.

"Mmm, heartbeat is a bit quick, but steady," Mathius muttered to himself, before speaking up. "So tell me, my lord, how _is_ the mademoiselle? Adapting to her work here, I take it?"

The pulse quickened further, and the doctor sensed the master swallowing roughly. "Um, y-yes, I believe so."

Grinning, the earn horn continued as though nothing were amiss. "A little to the right, Master…ah, yes, strong lungs as well. Everything sounds clear as a whistle," he finished as the Beast pulled him away. "I shouldn't be too concerned, my lord. Indeed, such symptoms are quite a normal response for someone…in your situation."

The Beast cocked his head in confusion, pausing in his vain attempt to fit the little buttons of his blouse back in their holes.

"It should calm in time," the horn continued vaguely.

"Oh. Uh, all right," his master said, scratching his chin before standing and padding out of the room.

Docteur Mathius chuckled to himself. _To think the boy's just now experiencing attraction,_ he thought with warmth. _Well…it's about time._

* * *

"Master?"

The Beast looked up, a large bundle of stalks in one hand and a rough old scythe in the other. He stood tall, looking over the rows of golden wheat. A small hand waved from beyond the heads of grass.

"My lord? Are you there?" Belle called out.

"I—I'm here. Just a moment," he said, sliding the blade in his belt and laying the fresh stalks in a pile before pushing his way out of the field. On his way, he passed a few other mobile tools as they helped to harvest the crops.

Emerging from the stalks, he saw Belle standing in the dirt, the book she'd borrowed the day before pressed against her chest with one arm as she held her hair out of her eyes in the strong autumn winds. She looked at him in bewilderment, and he was suddenly aware of his appearance—wolf-like feet coated in mud, no doubt pieces of grass stuck in his fur. He hadn't bothered with his coat that day, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows and a few buttons undone that he realized were exposing his fur-coated chest.

"Is everything all right?" he asked, making an awkward attempt to tame his wild mane before wrestling with his undone shirt.

"Yes," she said slowly, still looking puzzled as she took in the sight. "Mrs. Potts said I could find you here…" She trailed off, looking over the small field. "What are you doing, my lord?" she asked blankly.

He raised a brow. "Aren't you a farmer's daughter?" he asked in some amusement.

"I mean… _you're_ helping with the harvest?"

He couldn't help but smile at her shock. "We've let some of the class status slide around here over the years," he explained, before holding up his paws. "Also…opposable thumbs. I can clear half the field in the same time the others finish a row," he said quietly, not wanting to offend the servants behind him.

To his surprise, she chuckled. "That's very good of you, Master Léon."

Registering the name's origin _(lion)_ and ignoring it, he went on. "Well, I'm the only one here who eats," he shrugged. "Um…you said you needed something?"

"Oh! Yes." Belle held out the book to him with both hands. "I wanted to return this," she explained, before noticing his dirty paws and pulling it back. "But…perhaps I should just leave it somewhere for you?"

The Beast hadn't heard the last few words. He frowned. "I'm sorry you didn't like it," he said, feeling a little foolish.

Belle looked aghast. "What? No, I loved it!" she exclaimed, looking back down at the novel and brushing her hand over the cover. "It might be my new favorite, in fact."

The master's eyes grew wide. "Really?"

She nodded eagerly.

He felt his heart quicken for a moment before coming to himself. "Hold on—you already finished it?" he asked in disbelief. "Did you even sleep last night?"

"Well…not exactly," she admitted sheepishly. "I have little self-control when it comes to books, I'm afraid."

The Beast felt himself smiling, thinking of all the times he'd done the same himself.

"Would you like some help?" Belle asked suddenly. "The skies are growing dark…it'd be a shame if those fresh-cut stalks were ruined by the rain tonight."

The idea sounded nice, but the Beast only furrowed his brows. "It's already getting late...you should probably head back. I can finish on my own."

"No, I'll help. It won't take long if we work together," she said, pulling off her cloak and wrapping the book inside before setting both carefully on a nearby stump. Hiking up her skirt, Belle tramped past him into the mud and quickly disappeared between the tall stalks. The master stood in a daze for a long moment before chuckling to himself and following her inside.

A half hour later, they had brought the entirety of the cut stalks into the storage barn. The Beast laid the last stack on the floor and sighed. "That _did_ go fast," he said gratefully.

"I told you it would," she grinned, before scanning the inside of the barn. "Do you want to hang them? It looks like you have the hooks in place. The wheat will dry faster that way."

The master nodded. "I've tried, but—" He stopped, clenching and unclenching his large paws. "Well, I just can't seem to tie them together very well."

Belle's mouth formed a small 'o' in understanding, before continuing with resolve. "In that case, I'll tie them up if you hang them. I still have time."

The Beast lost track of the hour as they worked, the old wheelbarrow bringing in another load now and then but eventually disappearing along with the rest of the servants. Which, of course, was likely intentional. The master didn't mind, however, listening intently as Belle starting talking about her favorite parts of the story he'd leant her.

"And I couldn't _believe_ he was the prince in disguise all along!" she was saying excitedly.

"Yes, um…quite surprising," the master said awkwardly, clearing his throat.

"I should have seen it coming though," she went on. "I mean, looking back it was so _obvious_."

She continued talking as they worked, and the Beast was surprised at some of the symbolism she pointed out—things he had never noticed even after a dozen read-throughs.

She stopped suddenly. "Sorry, am I boring you? I'm probably boring you," she rambled, brushing her hands across her apron as she looked away.

"No," he answered honestly, that newfound warmth filling his chest once again. "No, not at all."

She looked relieved, though a bit unconvinced as she remained silent, tying up the last bundle of wheat and handing it to him.

"I'm glad you enjoyed it," he went on, hanging it beside the others. "I would offer you another, but I'd rather not encourage poor sleeping habits—"

"You have more?" Belle interrupted eagerly.

The Beast grinned a bit. "…A few." Before he could go on, darkness suddenly filled the large barn as early evening settled over them. A feeling of guilt swept over him as he realized how late it had grown.

"I better go prepare Philippe for the ride home," she said with some reluctance, tying her cloak around her shoulders and moving towards the door.

"Belle, you're welcome to stay the—" At that moment, a flash of light and a loud crack of thunder shot out from the darkness as rain began pouring down on the roof. "…You should definitely stay the night," he stated blankly.

"I…I suppose so," she confessed, pursing her lips. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be a burden. I just got carried away with what we were doing and—"

"It's no trouble," he said quickly. "There's no shortage of guest rooms. And besides, it was nice to—" He stopped, a bit of shyness sweeping over him as he stared at his feet. He wanted to tell her how nice it was to spend the afternoon together, but couldn't find the courage. "It was, um, nice to have the help," he amended. "We couldn't have finished before the rain without you."

She smiled warmly as she looked out the open door to half-harvested fields, the golden stalks dim amid the pouring rain. "I didn't think I'd get to do it this year," she said vaguely, leaning against the frame and glancing back at him. "Help with a harvest, I mean. My parents and I used to take in the wheat together every autumn. That is, until…" she trailed off, eyes looking a little glassy as she turned to look back outside.

"Belle?" he asked anxiously. "Are you—"

"Forgive me, my lord," she said quickly, shaking her head. "So foolish to miss them already—it's hardly been a week."

The Beast felt a new flood of memories at her words. "…It's not foolish," he said quietly. "The beginning of missing someone…it's always the worst part."

She bit her lip, dabbing her eyes against her sleeve and sucking in a deep breath. A bit of moisture remained on her cheeks as she pulled her arm away, hair falling from its ribbon and bits of straw clinging to her clothes. Yet she seemed even more beautiful to him than when she'd first appeared.

"…Would you like to see the library?" he asked after a moment, suddenly desperate to see her smile again.

He got his wish immediately.

* * *

"My dear, you are soaked to the _bone!"_ the teapot cried, hurrying them into kitchen and shouting to the others to bring a load of towels as she poured Belle and the master two cups of tea where they sat. "You'll need to get out of those wet clothes and into something dry this _instant_ —"

The Beast looked suddenly embarrassed, glancing quickly in the opposite direction.

"Anne!" Mrs. Potts went on, shouting towards the hall. A small serving tray appeared in the doorway. "Wheel upstairs and tell the girls to start heating the water, we'll run up a bath." The teapot then turned to the Beast, raising a painted brow. "Master, you better go dry yourself off."

"Mrs. _Potts,"_ he said between gritted teeth, looking at her in irritation.

"Come, come, we can't have that water soaking into the floors," she said frankly, eyeing the trails dripping from his fur. He sighed, standing and heading back out the door they'd come in to stand under the balcony. Belle heard what sounded like a hundred drops of water splatter against the window before he came back inside, fur suddenly dry and sticking out in all directions. It took her a great deal of effort not to laugh as he attempted to pat it back into place. Instead, she hid a smile behind her teacup, amused as she realized the master might not _actually_ be the one in charge around here after all.

"Now let's see, which room shall we put you in?" Mrs. Potts went on, turning back to Belle. "The Lilac Room is quite lovely, though it tends to run cold this time of year. I suppose there's the Bleu Room—I heard Queen Marie was very fond of that one—"

"O-oh," Belle said shyly, flushing a bit as the woman's words registered in her mind. "Won't I…I mean, shouldn't I just stay in the servant's quarters, Mrs. Potts?"

"Stay in the—nonsense! None of us stay there anymore as it is," she said absently, listing a few more of the grand rooms to herself as Belle sat in shock. She almost missed the large presence move an inch closer beside her on the bench.

"Belle," the Beast whispered as Mrs. Potts went on to herself.

"Yes, Master?"

"…What's your favorite color?" he asked.

She cocked her head. "Pardon?"

He looked a bit embarrassed, but only shrugged.

"Mmm, well…it's yellow, actually," she answered honestly, perplexed by the strange question.

"Really?" he replied with a look of interest, though he didn't inquire further as he sat up and stopped Mrs. Potts in her rambling. "I think the Gold Room would be best," he directed, standing and rubbing the back of his neck as he padded quickly out the door.

Not a half hour later, Belle found herself in a warm bath, little bubbles skimming the water's surface and a sweet, flowery smell gracing the air. She was in a bright, shining bathroom nearly as large as her entire home, mirrors rimmed with golden carvings and floors laid with fine marble.

Belle shut her eyes for a long moment before opening them again. _Still here,_ she thought, in utter shock at the luxury surrounding her. She took in a deep breath and pulled her head beneath the surface, letting her hair soak up the clean water and trying to figure out how she'd found herself here. The adjacent room was nearly three times as large as the bathroom, an enormous bed with tall, oak frames and warm yellow sheets stitched with intricate designs. The detail in every item of the room was breathtaking—the gold-painted stucco patterns lining the walls, the beautiful circular mural of cherubs in the ceiling's center, the soft Persian rug beneath her feet, the grand mirror over the hearth. Even the little glass clock on the mantle had an elegance of its own. Belle was certain she could spend a day alone simply admiring it all.

She soon resurfaced, rubbing some of the suds into her scalp and humming pleasantly.

"Can I offer you anything, mademoiselle?" a small comb said shyly from the counter.

Belle nearly laughed. She couldn't imagine anything that could make this much better. "No, this is wonderful, thank you," she said simply. _Is this what aristocrats do every day?_ she wondered in amusement, sinking back down to her nose in the water and trying to, quite literally, soak up as much as she could from the moment.

Only the thought of the mystery library could pull her away from the warm bath. _I wonder if it's much larger than the one in the village,_ she thought with naivety, in awe at the kind of home that owned enough books that it required a whole room to hold them. Drying herself off quickly, she was convinced by a very insistent wardrobe to wear a beautiful green dinner gown before kneeling beside the hearth to dry her hair. As she did, she took in her surroundings again, realizing that despite their finery, there remained an element of comfort in the setting only accentuated by the fire's glow.

Belle was trying not to imagine how the dress alone likely cost more than her entire house when a quiet _tap tap_ came from the door. The comb from before offered her a pretty ribbon which she pulled quickly through her hair before opening the door. In the hall, the master stood off to the side, eyes growing wide at the sight of her. Hair still a bit damp, she assumed she must look a bit disheveled.

"Mademoiselle, you look stunning, simply _stunning,"_ a voice called out, and Belle was surprised to see Monsieur Lumiere held aloft in the Beast's paw, his flames the only source of light in the dark hall.

"Thank you," Belle said a bit shyly. "Though I'm sure it's all the dress's doing, Monsieur."

The master was still staring as she looked back at him, when his eyes suddenly flew towards the ceiling, then the floor, then over the balcony before he spoke. "I-I thought I could…" He cleared his throat. "Well, Mrs. Potts suggested I, um, escort you. To dinner, I mean. Then the library. It's…it's easy to get lost, if you don't know the way—"

"Yes, the library is quite grand," Lumiere cut in, waving a golden arm out in enthusiasm. "But what's really impressive is the ballroom—oh, what I would _give_ to see it put to use again—"

The Beast cleared his throat to stop him, motioning to the right as he shut the door behind them and led her down the wide passageway.

* * *

The Beast looked down at the dishes in front of him. Several plates of various sizes sat in careful arrangement beneath a bowl of steaming soup, an assortment of glasses with different drinks and cups of tea arranged at the top while a dozen utensils lay on either side. He was certain just trying to pick any of the items up with his paws would send the entire place setting crashing to the floor. _Who did this?_ he thought irritably, wondering how in the world anyone expected him to eat this way.

Feeling a bead of sweat dripping down his neck, the master looked up at Belle from across the long table. To his surprise, she looked just as anxious as he felt.

"My lord?" she asked quietly, her nervous whisper echoing off the near-empty dining room. "I'm sorry, but…which spoon am I supposed to use?"

His irritability melted away in a moment. "I cannot recall," he grinned quietly.

"You don't usually eat like this?" Belle asked in surprise.

The Beast smiled further. "No, never." She looked a bit relieved. "I'm afraid we've become the victims of Lumiere's tendency to overdo things," he went on, to a few chuckles from the footman occupying a dozen candlesticks along the table's surface.

Soon, the unnecessary utensils were cleared away, and the Beast was trying his best not to look completely ridiculous using his remaining spoon when he heard a small voice across the room.

"Hello?" Belle was whispering to the spoon in her hand. She pulled it close to her ear, then placed it back on the table as she proceeded to speak to the rest of the place setting.

It was all the Beast could do not to laugh. "Belle, I don't use the living ones to _eat_ with," he explained, nose suddenly wrinkling at such a repulsive thought.

"Oh! Oh, o-of course not," she said in some embarrassment, even as she sighed in further relief.

The Beast pursed his lips, feeling the lingering smile play over his face as he looked back at his own food. He suddenly wasn't so worried how he looked anymore, thinking it might not be so bad to have someone to share the occasional meal with in the future.

He looked up again, watching Belle smile as she swallowed her first spoonful of the stew. "This is _good_ ," she breathed, closing her eyes and sighing as if she'd forgotten he was there.

 _No,_ he thought warmly, dipping back into his own supper. _This won't be so bad at all._

* * *

Belle hummed in content as they rose from their seats and watched a couple tall wooden coat racks clear away the remaining dishes. She'd certainly never eaten so much in all her life—but having gone hungry for so long, couldn't find it in her heart to refuse the servants' offers to refill her bowl or offer more of that warm bread several times over the course of dinner. The food itself wasn't particularly elegant—a simple, heavy soup of vegetables and venison, with what tasted like a few basic spices mixed in. It seemed they were limited to whatever ingredients were contained in the castle's cellars or grown in the fields. And, she quietly assumed, what could be hunted in the surrounding woods. However, the food was warm and comforting, and she could tell whoever made it clearly had a skill in using the best of what was available to them.

"Who made our dinner, Master?" she asked as they moved through the halls.

"That would be Chef Bouche. Did you enjoy it?" he asked, though the small smile on his face seemed to suggest he already knew the answer.

"Oh, um, yes…very much," she said in chagrin, realizing it probably wasn't very ladylike to eat four helpings in one sitting.

"Well, I can tell you that nothing would make Bouche happier than to hear you say that."

Belle smiled, making a mental note to find the chef and thank him soon.

The castle was quite dark by now, only a few sconces lit along their way to the library. In the shadows, Belle noticed several dozen portraits lining the long halls. _All human,_ she noted, the beautiful, painted figures draped in royal robes while wearing looks of utter boredom. She was so distracted by their stares that by the time they reached the pair of enormous doors Belle was completely turned around. _Yes, I definitely would have gotten lost,_ she realized, feeling a strange sense of excitement at the thought of exploring the mysterious halls on her own.

Of course, the sight of the library put any thoughts of leaving _that_ room to rest.

"Master, this…this is incredible," she breathed, taking in the shelves full of books that climbed up into the darkness. The last bits of evening sun sent shadows across the large room, the quiet sounds of a crackling fire and the turning of pages filling the space as a few animated objects took advantage of the reading material for themselves. "I can't believe it. I've never seen so many books in all my life," she continued with a quiet reverence. "I…I don't even know where to start."

The Beast moved quietly towards a desk near the hearth, taking a long minute to select several large bundles of parchment from the shelves before returning to her side. "Here," he offered, handing her the top stack.

Belle took the loosely-bound sheets and looked at them curiously, noticing the words _English Drama_ written in clean penmanship across the top of the first page. Glancing to the stack in his arms, she noticed the next couple stacks labeled _Medieval Allegory_ and _Art History,_ respectively.

"It's an index—still incomplete, but it may help," he explained, shrugging his shoulders.

Belle looked back down at the first list with wonder, settling into a chair by the fire as she went through its pages. Several sheets were dedicated to each letter of the alphabet, the titles roughly organized by author name and clearly written by several different scribes. The top pages were yellowed with time, their titles, authors, and locations penned in a neat cursive. Further along, however, the pages grew brighter, the writing changing to a light, steady stroke before finally ending with heavy scratches of a childish hand.

"How many books are there, my lord?" she asked in awe as she turned through the massive list in her arms—only one of several dozen at least, by the looks of the shelves over the desk.

"We've recorded about forty thousand," he said, setting a few more heavy stacks on a nearby table. "But there's still a good third to go, I believe."

Belle's eyes grew wide. _Forty thousand?!_ It took her a moment before she could register the rest of his words. "Who's… _we?"_ she asked curiously, glancing back at the various writing styles of the index.

The Beast bit his lip. "These books have been collected for generations by the…royal family," he explained blankly. "King Xavier felt a record of the collection would enhance its value. At first, several scribes were hired for the process, but the project was soon abandoned. That is, until my—" He stopped, swallowing roughly before going on. "Until the, um, most recent rulers revived it. They did much of the work themselves, for…" He paused again, looking into the fire. "For they had a passion for it."

Belle watched him carefully, knowing there was much he wasn't saying, but nervous more questions would make him shut down again. "And now you're working on it?" she asked instead.

"Mm," he affirmed, glancing back to the bundle in her lap. "Though it's slow work, and fairly tedious. I'd rather just _read_ the books, to be honest," he shrugged, putting his hands in his pockets as he stared back at the flames.

Belle looked back at the lines of scratched-in titles at the bottom of the pages; no doubt it must be difficult to write with giant paws. It didn't take long to make up her mind. "I'll help you," she said a moment later.

He turned back suddenly. "What?"

"I'll help you with the index," she explained. "I can finish with the animals in the mornings, then I'll work on this in the afternoons."

"You…really?" he asked. His eyes grew bright, and for the first time Belle noticed they were a stunning shade of blue. "I mean, you don't have to," he backtracked suddenly, scratching the back of his head. "It's quite boring, and—"

"I want to be useful. And it's going to get colder soon—I'd rather not be outside all day," she admitted, though it was mostly an excuse to get him to agree.

"No, no you shouldn't be—of course not," he nodded seriously.

Belle grinned in achievement as the realization of her new task flooded over her. To get to just _touch_ so many books! It seemed like a dream.

 _"It's not right for a woman to read. Soon she starts getting ideas…_ _**thinking…"** _

She wrinkled her nose as Gaston's words flooded her mind. _Such a philistine,_ she thought in disgust, though it wasn't an uncommon opinion in the village. _They're all philistines,_ she pouted, before glancing back at the Beast. Belle suddenly realized he hadn't seemed the least bit affronted by her literacy. "Did your mother read to you, my lord?" she wondered aloud.

He froze in place. "…Pardon?" he asked nervously.

"I'm sorry," she backpedaled, realizing she may have gone too far. "I just—I assumed, since you weren't offended by me reading so much—"

"Why would that offend me?" he asked, seeming genuinely confused.

"I'm very glad it doesn't," she said sincerely. "I'm afraid most in our village see things differently." When he looked curious, she went on. "There's a small school in town, and when I was seven I tried to attend. I showed up on the first day of class with the other boys—" She stopped, an unexpected lump in her throat at the memory.

_"What're you doing here, Belle?"_

_Belle held a small blackboard against her chest with one hand and a brand new stick of chalk in the other, sucking in a deep breath as she kept her eyes glued to the school's front door._

_"You're not allowed to be here. My papa told me so," the boy continued, sticking his freckled nose in the air._

_"Yeah, didn't they tell you?" another chimed in. "It's boys only, stupid."_

_Laughter rang in the air. "Stupid girl!" a few shouted in reply. Belle pursed her lips, eyes unmoving as she tried her best to ignore them._

_She lost focus as something bumped her shoulder. "Go home!" one of them huffed, another pair of hands knocking her off balance as she fell to her knees._

_"Stop," Belle gasped, reaching for the piece of chalk that had fallen from her hands. She was too late, watching as a shiny black shoe ground it into dust. She felt her eyes filling with tears just as the door swung open before them._

_"What's all this ruckus?!" the schoolmaster barked, a sharp snap in the air as he smacked the doorframe with a long, flat stick. "Inside, now!" As the boys scampered past him, Belle stood quickly, brushing her eyes on her sleeve as she tried to follow._

_As she reached the top of the steps, she found the stick blocking her way. "May I help you?" the man asked coolly._

_Staring at the floor, she nodded. "I-I'm here for school, Professeur," she said simply._

_Belle's heart fell into her stomach as he, too, laughed at her. "My dear girl, you must be confused. Now, run along home to your mother."_

_"But Papa told me to come—" She gasped at a sharp pain on the back of her hand, freezing in place as the man pulled the stick back to his side._

_"I didn't say you could speak," he snarled, moving back inside. "Even if you could attend, you are clearly not the kind of pupil I would tolerate here," he finished, shutting the door on her without another word._

Without entirely realizing it, Belle had shared the story with the master. "My God," he said as she finished, eyes growing wide in anger.

Belle laughed a bit, even as she absently rubbed the back of her hand. "Papa had a similar reaction. He came home with a black eye that evening—swears he would have won the fight too if the man hadn't brought along his friends. And he wouldn't stop talking about it for weeks—went on and on about how he paid his taxes, how the schoolmaster was breaking the law—"

"He _was,"_ the Beast interrupted. "By the ordinance of Louis le Grand in 1698, you—you should have had the right to schooling until you were fourteen!" he said earnestly, slamming his fist on the mantle before pacing back and forth before the fire.

Belle was surprised by his reaction—until now, he'd been nothing but reserved. She smiled a bit; his righteous fury was endearing, if a bit naïve. "Laws are easy to make, my lord," she went on calmly. "Custom, I'm afraid, is much harder to change."

He stopped in his pacing, looking back at her intently. "Then…then what is a ruler to do?" he asked, as if fully expecting her to know the answer.

Belle smiled in amusement. "I haven't a clue, my lord. I'm only a farmer's daughter, after all."

He chewed on his lip for a moment, before looking back to the stack of indices he'd left on the desk. "Let's begin with _History,"_ he huffed, moving quickly towards the pile and digging through it. Grabbing one of the bundles and a nearby candle, he stopped suddenly, looking apologetic. "I-if that's…all right with you," he amended belatedly.

"Of course," she agreed, following him as he led them towards a section on the second level.

He stopped as they reached the top of the stairs, his back to her in the darkness. "…She did," he whispered suddenly, resting a paw on one of the shelves as he spoke.

"What?" Belle asked in confusion.

"My mother," he explained quietly, staring at the books as he ran an absent finger over their bindings. "You were right. She…she did read to me."

Belle watched him carefully, feeling the weight of his words. "She sounds like a wonderful mother."

"…She was."

* * *

"Mrs. Potts?"

"Mmm?" the old pot said sleepily, cracking one porcelain eye open from where she'd dozed off.

"Mrs. Potts, I need your help."

"Yes, Master…what is it?"

The Beast furrowed his large brows. "Well, Belle has, um, fallen asleep in the library. A-and I'm not…sure what to do."

The woman chuckled. "Then, my dear, you must wake her up."

"I _tried,"_ he said seriously. Mrs. Potts raised a brow. "Well, sort of. I whispered her name a few times," he explained somewhat lamely.

"Well, now _that_ won't work," she smiled. "Just shake her shoulder gently, that'll do the trick—"

She stopped as the master shook his head. "I don't want to frighten her," he said quietly, ducking his head. "Please…can't you do it, Mrs. Potts?"

She sighed. "All right, love. Just this once."

He smiled, picking her up carefully as they made their way back to the library. He remained quiet, though the old pot could sense the lightness in his steps.

"It's nice to have a new face around here, isn't it?" Mrs. Potts observed as they wound their way through the halls.

"Mm," the Beast agreed.

"She seems a lovely person too."

The master sighed. "Mrs. Potts," he started, raising a brow. "I'm no fool. I know what you're thinking. What…everyone is thinking."

"Well, of course you do," she replied with a small smile. "But I was being honest—I do think she's a dear girl." The Beast stopped suddenly in his tracks, shoulders slouching in the quiet hall. "Master, what is it?" Mrs. Potts asked anxiously, unable to see his expression but sensing his change in spirit in an instant.

"Mrs. Potts," he started quietly. "Do you think this is…wrong?"

"What do you mean, love?"

He was quiet for a long minute, his deep, raspy breaths filling the space around them before he spoke. "I just…I suddenly feel like I'm deceiving her," he admitted. "… _Using_ her." Mrs. Potts was quiet, sensing he had more to say as he swallowed roughly. "At first, I just saw her as a way to get us back to normal. But now, I'm realizing that she's…I mean, that I could actually…" He trailed off, unable or perhaps unwilling to put his thoughts into words. Mrs. Potts was about to speak, but he quickly shook his head. "It doesn't matter either way, I suppose. It's not as though she'll ever see me like…that."

"She may surprise you," Mrs. Potts said gently. "She already treats you, treats all of us like nothing were amiss."

He nodded, staring blankly into the darkness. "It's funny," he went on a moment later. "But tonight, for the first time in years, I felt almost… _human."_

"I'm glad, dear," she said warmly. "I'm glad."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The 1698 law regarding schooling that the Beast mentioned was real – declaring children 7 to 14 had the right to a formal Catholic education. However, since the schools were locally funded, many areas could only provide limited education, or simply didn’t have schools. From some quick reading it seems that most girls were educated at home anyway, if at all. I took this info and made the assumption that local towns could have gone around the law and determined who did and didn’t have access to their schools.


	5. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI - “Maman," the French word for Mom, is pronounced “MAH-moh” (sort of). Maybe take a couple seconds and Google the pronunciation if the word’s unfamiliar to you (that’s exactly what I had to do!). I did choose to keep "Mama" for the Chip/Mrs. Potts relationship, since that's what's used in the movie, but otherwise wanted to use the correct French term since "Papa" is the corresponding translation for Dad.

“Good morning, Master Gorille,” Belle said, not looking up from the book in her lap as he entered the library.

“Gorill—now this is just getting ridiculous,” the Beast muttered, though he couldn’t stop the corner of his mouth from twitching up at the sight of her. “Did you…sleep well?”

“Oh, yes,” she said eagerly, tearing her eyes from the page to glance up at him. “In fact, I’m certain I will never appreciate my own bed as I should in the future.”

“Good. I mean, that you slept well, n-not that…um…”

“It’s a good thing,” Belle assured him. “I’ve never seen such a beautiful room. And everyone was so accommodating.” She paused, grinning. “I felt like a real princess,” she chuckled, before glancing back down to her book.

The master’s heart beat a bit quicker at that. He cleared his throat, unsure how to respond.

“I’m sorry, I’ll be out in the stables in just a minute,” she continued, mistaking his discomfort for impatience. “Just wanted to finish this chapter…”

“Belle,” the Beast said blankly. “It’s Sunday.”

“Oh!” she said, looking up in surprise. “I completely forgot. To think I’ve missed sermon to finish a book,” she confessed, though the way she held the novel belied her true interests.

He nearly laughed—a strange sensation he’d been feeling quite often the past several days. “You’re welcome to come to ours,” he offered. “Though I’m afraid they’re rather long…”

“You hold Mass, my lord?” she asked in surprise.

“Well, yes,” the Beast shrugged. “My parents were devout Catholics. And considering Cardinal Marius embodies the Holy Book, he’s pretty adamant we all attend,” he continued good-humoredly. “He’s a little dry, but the organist is quite good.”

Belle looked intrigued. “I’d love to attend. In fact, I’m quite interested in hearing you sing, my lord.”

“Oh, no,” he said, holding his paws up in front of him in embarrassment. “I don’t sing.”

“Why not?” she prodded, grinning a bit.

“Well…” he started, scratching behind one ear. “I tried once. Sounded like a dying animal.”

Belle’s pleasant laughter filled the room. The Beast furrowed his brows, unsure if she was laughing at him, or… _Does she think I’m funny?_ he suddenly wondered, smiling a little dumbly as Belle stood and smoothed out her frock. She scrunched up her face a bit as she did so. “Perhaps I should have worn the gown again today. I’m not very presentable for Mass with a real cardinal,” she said, looking a bit nervous as she chewed the side of her lip.

 _Tell her she looks beautiful,_ a voice in the back of the Beast’s head whispered. It sounded eerily familiar to Lumiere. He pursed his lips. “You…” he stopped, feeling his cheeks burning beneath the fur. “I think that dress is nice,” he said lamely.

She raised a brow in disbelief. “These are my work clothes, my lord. They’re _covered_ in stains.”

“I didn’t notice,” he shrugged.

“…Oh,” she replied, seeming suddenly shy as she looked away. “I’ll…I’ll be quick,” she said a moment later, and the Beast thought he caught a small blush as she moved quickly from the room to change.

He was staring at the door as it shut behind her, wondering if he’d said something wrong, when it opened once again. “Sorry,” Belle said, looking back inside. “But…I’m afraid I still don’t know my way back.”

The master let himself smile again as he moved to show her the way. “How did you find your way down this morning?” he asked curiously.

“Oh! The sweetest little teacup showed me the way,” she said pleasantly.

“Chip,” the Beast noted.

“Yes, that was him,” she agreed, before furrowing her brows. “That can’t be his real name, though, can it?”

“Well, no. It’s actually Jack, but he earned the nickname when he fell from the banister a few years ago and cracked his top.”

Belle’s eyes grew wide. “He fell from the banister?!” she asked in horror.

The Beast sighed. “Yes. It’s a surprise he hasn’t done worse. I had to pull the kid from one of the flying buttresses when he was six, and just a few months ago we had to fish him out of the organ when he slipped inside one of the pipes.”

“Goodness, he sounds like a handful!” Belle observed. “Must wear his poor mother ragged.”

The Beast inhaled sharply, biting his lip as he looked away.

Belle was quiet. “I thought—he talked about his mama, I just assumed she was—”

“That’s Mrs. Potts,” he said quietly. “She’s actually his grandmother. His mother died in childbirth.”

“Oh,” Belle said sadly. “I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s all right. I just figured you should know. I guess…I’m sorry, but I suppose there’s a lot you don’t know,” he said, suddenly feeling the weight of the night before, the weight of the secrets he was keeping from her.

“Like how you were all human?” she asked straightly.

His eyes grew wide, and he looked back at her quickly. “I—but how—”

She raised a brow. “My lord, I’m assuming Jack’s mother wasn’t a teapot when she carried him.”

“Oh,” the Beast replied, feeling a bit foolish.

“But I knew before,” she went on. “It didn’t take long to figure out.”

“It didn’t?”

“No. At first, I wondered if you were all enchanted objects, made to move and speak—like the pumpkin or the mice in Cinderella,” she explained. The Beast wrinkled his nose at that. “But it only took speaking with you all to realize that couldn’t be right.”

“What do you mean?” he asked curiously.

“I mean…well, I don’t know much about fairy godmothers or enchantresses, but I doubt they could just create the mind and heart of a human with the wave of a wand.”

The master reached for his own heart, feeling the large organ pulsing beneath his chest. “But…I’m not human,” he said, frowning deeply as he moved against the banister. “Not anymore.”

Belle was quiet for a long moment. “Can I tell you something, my lord?” she asked carefully.

He turned back quickly. “Of course.”

She moved close beside him, looking over the banister and into the dim Hall of Arms below. Only a hand’s width away, the Beast flushed at the proximity.

“There’s a man in our village,” Belle began. “He’s tall, strong, wealthy, and, according anyone you ask, the most handsome man for miles.”

The Beast frowned, trying to hide his irritation. _How can I compete with that?_ he thought, feeling his heart drop into his stomach.

“And,” Belle went on, eyes growing dark as she clenched her fists. “He’s probably the least human creature I’ve ever met.”

The master’s brows flew up in surprise, and suddenly the beautiful but dreadful face of the enchantress filled his thoughts. _Yes,_ he realized. _I know someone like that too._

“I just…” She paused, expression growing soft as she glanced up at him. “I don’t believe being human is the same as being humane.”

The Beast stared at her, feeling like she’d just torn the weight of the world from his shoulders and thrown it into the darkness below. His greatest insecurity, his lost humanity—with one line she’d completely turned it on its head.

“So,” she went on straightly, placing two determined hands on her hips. “If _that_ sorry excuse for a man can claim to be human, then you most _certainly_ can.”

The master felt himself grin. He sure didn’t mind her badmouthing this guy, whoever he was. _Hold on,_ he realized a moment later, the implications settling over him. _If the enchantress did what she did to us, what did—_ “What did he do to you?” he asked, voice laced with sudden anger.

Belle only sighed. “He offered to pay for my mother’s care,” she started.

The master raised a brow, now utterly confused. “But I thought you said—”

“On the condition that I married him,” she finished, nose wrinkling in disgust.

It took the Beast a great deal of self-control not to speak aloud the foul words in his mind. “He—he claimed to love you as he watched you _starve?”_ he cried, his voice emitting a small growl on the last word. “As he watched your mother—” He couldn’t finish, grinding his teeth as he fumed.

“Oh, he never claimed to love me,” Belle said sourly. “But, yes, I suppose he did let me go hungry as well. Which was quite counterintuitive, considering he only wanted to marry me for my—” She stopped, flushing as she hugged her torso. “Well, Gaston has never been the brightest in the bunch,” she said, biting her lip and looking away.

The Beast had a sudden aching to reach out to her, but of course he couldn’t. He stared down at his paws, yearning for his human flesh more than ever before.

“The worse part of it was, I almost did it,” she went on, as if unable to keep the words to herself any longer. “The night before Papa returned with the gold…I’d resolved to accept Gaston’s offer.” A sudden look crossed over her face, a look of shame and almost _...fear._

“Belle…”

“I just—I thought you should know why we owe you so much. It wasn’t just Maman’s life you saved, my lord…but mine, too.”

The master’s heart pounded loudly in his chest, feeling an overwhelming relief that he hadn’t sent Maurice away empty-handed the night he appeared. To think what kind of life Belle would have lived if he had. The Beast might have been naïve about some parts of the outside world, but he wasn’t so much a fool that he couldn’t imagine what she would have had to endure in such a union.

“I…” he started, unsure what to say. “Well, I don’t think the money could have been put to better use,” he said quietly.

Belle finally smiled a bit, seeming like perhaps a bit of a burden had been lifted from her own shoulders. They sat in companionable silence for a few minutes before he spoke again.

“You know what, you should bring this guy along next time,” he started, pushing away from the railing and starting back down the corridor.

“Wha—what?!” Belle exclaimed, looking over at him incredulously.

“You should,” he affirmed, trying to hold back a smirk as he glanced over his shoulder. “We haven’t used the dungeons in years. It’d be nice to put them to use again.”

Her laughter rang out in the still halls as they continued towards her room, and the Beast wondered how he’d ever endured the quiet before.

* * *

 “Sorry, Master.”

The Beast sighed, holding the little teacup carefully in his paws as he made his way to the kitchen. This time, Chip had tried hopping up one of the ladders in the library—which might have been fine, had he not been doing so on the fifth level near the balcony’s drop-off. “It’s all right. But if you’re not more careful, we might have to start calling you _Chips,”_ he said, raising a brow.

“I know,” the little cup sighed, even as he fidgeted in the master’s palm.

“To tell you the truth, though,” the Beast continued. “I used to get in a lot of trouble when I was younger too.”

“You, Master?” Chip asked, porcelain eyes growing wide.

“Yes. Your mama used to get quite cross with me.”

“She _did?”_ the child asked shock.

He nodded, smiling a bit. “You know the broken banister on the eastern stairs?”

“Uh-huh.”

The Beast leaned down so he could whisper. “…That was me.”

“It _was?”_ Chip asked excitedly.

“It was. I wanted to make a swing, so I tied my sheets to one of the rods, a knot at the other, and leapt over the edge.” He stopped, smiling sheepishly. “Wound up breaking the banister _and_ my leg.”

“Master,” Chip laughed. “You’re silly.”

The Beast grinned; he’d always appreciated Chip’s lack of formality around him. In fact, he suspected the kid thought _Master_ was his actual name.

As they entered the kitchen, the Beast let the little teacup down beside his grandmother. He was about to leave when he felt a nudge against his leg.

“Walking your _chérie_ to church?” Lumiere said slyly, looking up at him from the ground. “Well _done,_ my lord.”

The Beast rolled his eyes. He was suddenly regretting telling any of them the witch’s conditions for ending the curse.

“At this rate, she’ll break the spell by Michaelmas!” the candle went on excitedly, flames sparking with excitement.

“Oh, Lumiere, love doesn’t happen so fast,” Mrs. Potts chided him from the table, looking a bit anxiously at the Beast. No doubt she recalled their conversation from the night before. The master frowned, staring at the floor. He already felt so happy when he was with Belle, but the idea of using her to break the spell sent his gut churning every time he thought about it.

Would she feel hurt when she found out the truth?

“And where is she now, my lord?” Lumiere went on brightly, unaware of the master’s discomfort in his own excitement.

The Beast almost smiled again as he answered. “Back in the library.”

* * *

Belle fidgeted in place, for once unable to give her entire focus to the novel in front of her. Books had always offered the greatest diversion, but they now found competition with the mysteries of the castle around her. Not to mention that she had just attended the most interesting church service of her short life.

True to the master’s word, the cardinal’s sermon had been quite dry, but the pews brimming with moving objects and the fact that the bible itself was _literally_ delivering the service was enough to keep Belle’s interest. Cardinal Marius had grown somewhat irritable with the minor pandemonium her appearance had caused, the objects bouncing in excitement as she took a seat near the master in the first row. Yet despite the chatter her appearance had caused, she noticed the feeling of reverence that fell over them all during Liturgy of the Word. Mass in her village had an air of boredom and obligation—here, it was as though the servants hung to every word, soaking in every offer of hope they could.

She smiled a bit to herself. To think those under the spell of a witch would cling to their faith the most of all.

The master’s words suddenly echoed in her mind. _“My parents were devout Catholics.”_

 _What happened to them?_ Belle wondered.

_“My mother…she did read to me.”_

Belle frowned. _Why is he here, alone, with only his servants?_

She snapped the book shut in her lap, glancing towards the door. _Time for a little exploring._

She took off in a direction she’d never been before, attempting to memorize her route as she turned several corners and peeked inside each room she passed.

Of course, she was lost within a half hour.

 _Someone will find me eventually,_ she shrugged, exploring each room she passed without making too much effort to find her way back. They were all empty, the furniture covered with dusty sheets, the air stale and silent. Most looked like bedrooms, a few with key pieces missing that Belle assumed had walked off long ago.

The halls themselves were lined with artwork; however, instead of portraits, this wing was filled with grand murals depicting vast landscapes, biblical scenes, and even some Greek mythology. Growing up as she had, Belle had never had the opportunity to see such beautiful works. _I’ll need to bring my sketchbook in the future,_ she thought eagerly, thrilled at the thought of studying the castle’s masterpieces.

Reaching the end of the hall, Belle pushed open one last door and peeked inside. Even with dusk fast approaching, the room was brighter than the others, still dusty but clearly not as abandoned. It was large but comfortable, with a rounded wall lined with padded seats and tall windows that looked out to the gardens. Belle smiled a bit at the toys propped up along the bottom of a large bookshelf.

Curious, Belle stepped inside, careful not to disturb anything. She moved immediately towards the bookshelf, reading the titles with interest. Many on the lower shelves were children’s books, while those above were lined with atlases, zoology texts, and adventure novels. _Robinson Crusoe,_ she read, carefully pulling the book from its place and opening the worn cover. _To my favorite little explorer,_ it read in neat penmanship on the inner cover. _Love, Uncle Victor._

Belle smiled again, wondering absently who the book belonged to as she placed it back carefully. She turned to leave, but caught a pair of blue eyes looking down from over the hearth. Moving closer, she saw it was a simple portrait of a child, dressed in the robes of nobility, hands placed carefully in his lap as he stared across the room. To Belle’s amusement, he wore a small grin, in stark contrast with the frowns that painted the faces of the other portraits lining the castle walls.

“My dear?”

Belle started, spinning around to see Mrs. Potts atop a small tea tray pushing its way into the room. “Oh, Mrs. Potts,” she gasped, a hand over her racing heart. “It’s only you.”

“Sorry to surprise you, love,” the teapot said, her porcelain mouth curling up at the corners. “Anne and I were simply sent to search for you—the master was concerned you were lost.”

“Bonjour!” the tea tray called out.

Belle grimaced, feeling a little bad for putting them at an inconvenience. “It’s all right. I _was_ lost, to be honest,” she admitted, glancing back at the picture above her.

She heard Mrs. Potts chuckle. “I’d forgotten about that one. He was a handsome child, don’t you think?”

Belle furrowed her brows, looking down at her companion before studying the portrait once again. Those eyes _did_ look familiar. “That’s…the master?” she asked in shock.

“Why, yes,” Mrs. Potts said straightly. “You knew we were mortal once, of course?”

“Yes, I did,” Belle confessed. “But he just looks so… _happy.”_

“Well, he _was_ happy,” the woman affirmed. “And kind, though the latter hasn’t gone away. Took after his mother in that regard. Oh, she was a lovely person. A few words and she left you feeling like royalty! In fact, I’d wager she’s the reason he never grew into the arrogance like the others of his class, what with her background and all.”

“Her background?” Belle asked curiously.

“She wasn’t…well, she came from more humble circumstances than his father. But he loved her more than most in those kinds of marriages do. It’s quite a romantic tale, actually…if tragic.”

Belle breathed in deeply, anxious for the story, but Mrs. Potts only shook her head. “Look at me, babbling on when we need to get you home,” she said quickly, though Belle sensed she wished to change the subject.

Following her into the hall, Belle pursed her lips before asking another question. “You said the master was an easy child to care for?” she tried, thinking it a harmless enough inquiry that she might get more of an answer.

The two women beside her burst out laughing. “Oh, h-heavens no!” Mrs. Potts cried.

Belle raised a brow, puzzled.

“I said he was kind,” Mrs. Potts explained with a smile. _“Not_ short on energy.”

* * *

_"Young lord!”_

_The five year-old boy skidded to a stop at the foot of the stairs, turning around with a look of confusion on his face. His eyes followed Mrs. Potts gaze, growing wide at the trail of mud he’d left in his wake._

_“Oh,” he grimaced, looking up at her with remorse. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Potts.”_

_The woman sighed, shutting the door behind him and waving to one of the kitchen girls to clean up the mess. “It’s all right. What’s got you in such a hurry that you’ve forgotten to wipe your shoes, dear?”_

_His shame melted quickly into an eager smile, lifting the flap on the front of his vest and pulling out a slimy, mud-coated creature. Mrs. Potts gasped in surprise as the frog leapt out of the boy’s grip, but he caught it quickly and held it with both hands as he grinned up at her in triumph. “He was in the garden! I’m going to show Maman,” he explained, kicking off his shoes and dashing up the stairs into the hall._

_“J-just a moment!” Mrs. Potts cried as she rushed out to stop him, anxious not to have a slimy amphibian let loose in the palace on her watch. Rounding a corner, she stopped as she spotted him, her mistress crouched beside the boy with an arm over his shoulder._

_“What have you got there, darling?” she asked._

_“A frog!” the child cried happily, holding up the little animal. He furrowed his brows a moment later, turning it back to face him. “Or perhaps a toad.”_

_To Mrs. Potts surprise, his mother only laughed as the slimy creature escaped the child’s grip and took several long leaps down the hall. He raced after it, pulling it against his chest as though holding a little child while he walked back to his mother’s side._

_“Shall we find out what sort of frog he is?” she asked. “I’m certain we can find the answer in Papa’s encyclopedias.”_

_The boy nodded excitedly. “C-can I try to read the page, Maman?”_

_“Of course,” she said, reaching for his muddy hand. “But let’s wash you off first, hmm?” He nodded obediently, taking her hand as they moved towards the West Wing. “I wonder what he likes to eat,” his mother wondered aloud as they walked._

_“Oh!” he cried happily, digging a hand into his pocket and producing a fistful of wriggling worms. “I think he likes these!”_

The three women laughed as Mrs. Potts finished the story. “It’s hard to imagine him like that,” Belle chuckled.

Mrs. Potts grew quiet for a long moment. “Life has not been kind to the master, my dear,” she replied, suddenly solemn. “He’s done much for us since the curse, but I’m afraid he’s quite forgotten how to let _himself_ be happy.”

“Belle?”

They looked up to see the Beast himself, moving quickly towards them down the hall. “There you are,” he huffed, looking anxiously towards the window. Darkness was already falling, shadows inching across the carpeted floors.

“I’m sorry,” Belle said. “Mrs. Potts and I were just talking.”

“It’s all right,” he replied absently, still staring at the forest outside. “I just—well, there are wolves in these woods at night,” he went on anxiously, finally tearing his gaze from the window. “Of course, you can always stay another night if you need—”

“No, no I’ll leave now,” Belle said quickly. “Poor Max will wonder where I went if I’m gone too long.”

“…Max?” the Beast asked, narrowing his eyes. For some reason, he seemed a little put off.

“He’s our dog.”

“Oh!” he exclaimed, clearing his throat as he scratched behind one ear. “Oh. O-of course.”

“He gets a bit lonely when I leave,” Belle went on, before turning back to the tea tray. “Au Revior, Anne, Mrs. Potts. Thank you for the story.”

“You’re welcome, love,” the teapot winked.

Belle followed the master out of the castle, trying to reconcile the little grinning boy in the portrait with the enormous beast walking beside her.

“Is Max a large dog?” he asked as they neared the front hall.

“Yes, quite large,” Belle affirmed, coming back to the moment. “And an excellent guard. Papa wouldn’t have left me alone otherwise.”

The master was quiet for a long moment. “You should bring him with you,” he said suddenly. “When you come here. The wolves won’t like his scent—and he could sense them if they’re near and give you warning.”

“Oh! I didn’t think about that,” she said. “I suppose the house should be fine during the day without him, and the exercise would probably do him good. But are you sure?”

The Beast nodded earnestly. “Yes. In fact, if you are to keep traveling this route each day, I must insist.” Belle’s mouth fell open, a little surprised by his firmness. “And another thing,” he went on, pausing before a large steel door. Without finishing his thought, he swept inside the room, leaving her furrow-browed in the hall as she listened to the sounds of metal clanking inside.

A minute later, he emerged. “Take this with you,” he said, holding out a long sabre in his paws. The blade curved at the tip, handle encrusted with gold and detailed carvings along the hand guard.

“This is a beautiful weapon,” she said honestly, before raising her brows. “But, my lord…you realize I have no idea how to use this, don’t you?”

“Not to worry, mademoiselle,” a voice rang out. “You just let me handle things.”

“Oh!” Belle gasped in surprise. _You think I’d be used to talking objects by now,_ she thought in chagrin.

The Beast looked amused for a moment, but quickly went on. “This is Sire Gilles, of the House of Broglie. He’s a master swordsman, and has agreed to be your escort.”

Belle furrowed her brows in some discomfort at the arrangement, but her master seemed insistent. “I’m…very grateful,” she conceded, sighing a bit. The Beast slid Sire Gilles into a scabbard before handing him and a harness over to her. She tried to hide a grimace, feeling a bit uncomfortable about securing a strange man to her hip, but simply went along with it as she tightened the belt around her waist. She owed the master a great debt, after all—she couldn’t be so ungrateful as to reject such a thoughtful offer.

The Beast led her to the stables, then to the front gate. By then, a few small flakes of snow began to fall, though the ground was too warm for anything to stick. Still, the master seemed more anxious than usual, asking twice more if she wouldn’t stay before Belle insisted she had to return home.

“Tomorrow is market day in the village,” she explained. “I’ll need to be there early if there’s to be anything left that I need.”

“Oh,” he conceded, gaze sweeping over the tree line behind the gates. “All right.” He chewed his lip nervously as she tugged on her hood and took off on the forest path.

“I’m sorry if the master talked you into this, Sire Gilles,” Belle said as soon as they were out of earshot, the autumn leaves swirling around them with the growing evening wind.

“No, not at all!” the swordsman exclaimed from her side. “It’s been so long since I was of any use—or left the palace, for that matter. What an adventure we’ll have! Why, that crest just beyond quite reminds me of the Battle of Leuze back in 1691. The Allied forces stood no chance once we—”

Belle listened with interest as the commander told tales of war, of glorious victories and tragic defeats, of comrades lost and friends made, of faraway places she’d never been. Before she realized it, she was nearly home.

“He needn’t have worried so,” she thought aloud, slowing Philippe as they climbed the short hill to her house.

“What was that?” the blade asked.

“Oh. The master, I mean—he seemed so anxious about the woods. I’ve traveled them dozens of times, you know,” she said with confidence.

The sabre was quiet for a long moment. “Do not blame him for that, dear girl,” he said a moment later, his tone suddenly sober. “He has more reason than most to fear.”

Belle didn’t breathe for a moment. “…Why?” she whispered, Sire Gilles’ sudden change in tone striking a quiet fear in her heart.

“Those woods…” the man began, sighing sadly. “They took his mother.”

* * *

“I don’t like it,” the Beast muttered to himself, pacing back and forth along the balcony, glancing over the dim forest below. _It’s already darker than it was this time yesterday,_ he realized anxiously. _I should have insisted she stay another night._

He stopped, digging his fingers into the stone ledge, a few pieces breaking away and falling over his toes as he huffed and swept back into his chambers. Snatching the mirror from the bedside table, he spoke. “Show me Belle’s safe,” he said quickly. The mirror brightened instantly, his own ugly reflection dissolving to show Belle atop Philippe on the trail to the village.

Same as when he’d last checked, not five minutes before.

The Beast sighed, putting the mirror face down and sitting heavily on the bed. _You’re overreacting,_ he told himself, tugging off his jacket and fighting with the buttons of his shirt with shaking paws. _This isn’t like it was with Mother. This isn’t the same._

* * *

_The nine year-old prince squinted at the words illuminated by a quiet fire, nestled against the hearth in the dead of night. Adam knew he should be asleep, but just couldn’t manage to put this story down. Titled_ Robinson Crusoe, i _t was a brand new book full of more adventure than the young boy had ever imagined._

_The prince’s heart raced as the pirates took the hero in chains, and he nearly missed the soft footsteps that passed by his room. Tearing his eyes from the page, Adam looked up, wondering who could be up so late._

_Curiosity taking the better of him, the prince paced quietly across the room, pulling on a small robe before pushing open the door._

_“Hello?” he whispered._

_The hall was dark, but for a small, three-pronged candle resting within a small enclave. The boy picked it up, glancing both directions before heading towards the southern side of the palace, creeping expertly past the night guards who were dozing in their boots. He’d probably been hearing things, but tales of pirates and cannibals had sent his imagination into overdrive, and he felt both the thrill and terror of exploring the silent darkness._

_And if no villains were lurking in the shadows, there were at least some apple tarts Mrs. Potts had left out calling his name in the kitchens._

_Adam nearly jumped out of his slippers as a loud, terrible **creek** rang out from the quiet. Heart racing, he tip-toed down the kitchen stairs towards the sound, hanging over the lower banister and holding the candelabra out to illuminate the empty room below. _

_The back door was open, silent moonlight falling over the threshold and illuminating a tall form clothed in white. Her nightgown billowed in the cool wind, bits of fresh snow coating her hair. Adam shivered—even where he stood, the winter air bit at his skin. She wasn’t even wearing a robe._

_“Hello?” he asked again, louder this time._

_The form turned towards him. Adam dropped the candle in shock, its fire going out in an instant. “M-Maman?”_

_The queen stared up at her son, but showed no sign of recognition as she turned back to face the storm. She seemed to be speaking to someone, before stepping quickly into the elements._

_“Maman!” Adam cried again, heart pounding against his chest in fear as he raced down the rest of the stairwell, dodging the tables and barrels blocking his path to the door. “Maman, come **back!”**_

She’s seeing them again, _he realized in horror, catching the door just before it closed behind her. Adam tugged it back open with all his might, sleet whipping into his face. He forced his eyes open, staring desperately into the dark courtyard beyond. There was no sign of her._

_“MAMAN!” he screamed in full panic, racing out into the snow. Her footsteps disappeared just before the gates, the dark forest looming before him in the half-moonlight. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been screaming when firm hands grabbed his shoulders._

_“Adam!” a deep voice cried, shaking him from his hysteria. “Adam, what are you **doing** out here?!”_

_Adam felt the hands pulling damp hair from his eyes, and he looked up to see his father’s face. “P-Papa…” he managed, choking back sobs. “She’s gone…”_

_“Who’s gone?” the king asked, the hint of panic in his voice dampened by the roaring wind._

_“Maman…sh-she went out there,” Adam gasped, pointing a frozen, shaky hand towards the woods. His father followed his arm, eyes growing wide in terror. “I think she saw **them** again,” the prince choked out, the lump in his throat stopping any more words from coming out._

_“Oh, dear God,” the king breathed, gripping the child hard as he spotted the shallow footprints in the snow. “I thought she was…oh, God, Jacqueline,” he rasped, standing to his full height and racing towards the edge of the woods. “JACQUELINE!” he bellowed, his form disappearing into the storm as quickly as it had appeared, his shouts consumed by the winds. New hands found the child’s shoulders a moment later, pulling him back into the warmth of the castle as a dozen men and horses followed his father into the snowy forest._

The master tore himself from the memory. He didn’t want to remember the days that followed, waiting in agony as he watched several parties of men return empty-handed. Or the dead look in his father’s eyes when he finally returned a week later, beaten down by the elements and by his failure.

Or the strip of white cloth in the king’s grasp, torn edges splattered with dried blood.

 _“Damn it,”_ the Beast growled. He’d found anger had a way of beating back the grief, though it always made it hurt worse later. He reached again for the mirror, holding it in one large paw as he repeated the words for the umpteenth time. “Please…show me Belle’s safe.”


	6. Chapter 5

"No books today, gorgeous?"

Belle grimaced, gripping the basket harder as she ignored the voice from the crowds. She motioned to a small sausage in the stand before her, eyes glued to the seller as he wrapped her purchase, hoping her indifference would make Gaston decide it wasn't worth it today.

No such luck.

"You're looking especially lovely this morning, Belle," his rasped, a large hand sliding down her back and around her waist in the thick crowds.

 _Well, yes. Maybe because I'm actually_ _ **eating**_ _again,_ she thought sourly, shaking him off as she weaved expertly through the wave of market-goers.

She felt his hot fingers grip her arm in an especially dense part of the square, and her chest grew tight. She looked around with some desperation, but previous experience had taught her no help was to be found, not in this village, and not when the son of its most powerful merchant was involved. Luckily, Gaston hadn't tried anything serious with her. At least, not yet. Sometimes she wondered—worried, really—how long his patience would last.

Sire Gilles was suddenly quaking against her hip, no doubt eager to be let loose. _Hopefully it won't come to that,_ she thought, tucking a hand inside her cloak and resting it upon the handle to steady him. Instead, she caught sight of one of Genevieve's boys, a tall, lanky sixteen year-old who had helped her chop firewood in the past. He clearly understood her expression, frowning at the large man beside her.

"Run along, kid," Gaston breathed darkly.

The boy's eyes grew wide in fear as he stared at the man—nearly ten years his senior and three times his girth—and offered Belle a passing look of sympathy before obeying Gaston's command. Belle pursed her lips in irritation, though she couldn't really blame him. "Gaston, _please_ behave like a gentleman," she said through gritted teeth, hoping a jab to his pride might make him let up.

"Oh, but I am," he said, unaffected as he let her arm go and moved a firm hand to her opposite shoulder. In his other he produced a small, silk pouch, with golden stitching along its edges.

Belle frowned. "I don't want anything from you," she said coolly.

"Belle, it's only a gift. No strings attached," he promised, crossing a finger over his heart.

Sighing, she picked up the pouch and quickly un-cinched the top. Inside, a bright, golden ring sat in red silk. She grimaced. "Um…I'm not sure you understand what _no strings attached_ means," she muttered, tying it up quickly and handing it back to him. _Surely he realizes the phrase isn't literal…right?_

"Ah Belle, don't be like that," he pouted. "It was my dear grandmother's ring, after all. What would she think?" he said, shaking his head in disappointment.

"That her grandson is positively primeval," she muttered.

"Why, thank you, Belle!" he cried sincerely.

Belle tried to stop them—she really did—but her eyes flew upwards before she could properly reign them in.

"Besides, your father has given me his permission, after all," Gaston went on, unaware of her reaction.

Belle froze. "No…no, he didn't," she said anxiously. _Papa would never—_

"He did! Just this morning," he lied. "I came straight over to find you after speaking with him."

Belle's frown deepened. _Does he really think me so daft?_ she thought in disbelief.

"Just think, Belle." He paused. "No, I take that back. Just _picture_ it _:_ we'll get your dear mother to Paris, and you and I can get to work on having those boys we've always dreamed about. They'll be the best-looking blokes on this side of the—"

 _He doesn't know we already have the money,_ Belle realized in shock, ignoring his arrogant babbling. _He doesn't know they're already gone._

_He still thinks he has power over me._

She thought for a long moment. She knew the master had given Papa the money on the condition they wouldn't tell anyone of its source. And as sturdy their home and as good a guard as Max was…she didn't particularly want Gaston to know she was there alone. But she _definitely_ wanted him to know his position.

"You know, Gaston," she said in innocence, interrupting his prattling. "Maman is doing _much_ better these days."

"She…is?" he asked, looking puzzled.

"Oh yes," she fibbed, slipping out of his loosened hold and putting her hands in her pockets as she leaned back against the fountain. "Who knows? Perhaps she'll be completely recovered by spring," she shrugged.

"She…will?" he asked, staring at the ground as he furrowed his brows.

"I do believe so. Isn't that wonderful?" she exclaimed, clapping her hands together.

"Mmm…wonderful," he muttered.

"You must be quite happy for me, Gaston."

"Happy. Yes," he went on, the beginnings of a scowl forming over his face as the pieces slowly came together.

Satisfied, Belle decided to let the cogs run their course through his thick skull. _No Monsieur,_ she thought, letting her fake smile slide away as she escaped quickly into the crowds. _You will find no little wife in me._

* * *

The harsh barking should have been an irritant, but to the Beast it meant one thing.

Belle was back.

She'd only stayed away a day, to visit the market and care for her home. He just hadn't realized how much he'd miss having her around. _You fool,_ he told himself, pulling on his cloak and padding out to unlock the gates. _What are you going to do when she decides to stop coming all together?_ It wasn't like she really had any obligation to keep coming back, besides to appease her own pride in repaying her father's debt. Her insistence on self-reliance was admirable, but a small part of the master's mind wondered if there wasn't another reason for her presence.

 _Maybe she enjoys being with you too,_ that part of him prodded. _You made her laugh, didn't you?_

"Probably a pity laugh," he grumbled to himself, nearing the gates and seeing the familiar horse and hazel-eyed woman waiting on the other side. With them was an enormous mutt, teeth barred and yellow eyes blazing with suspicion as it barked fiercely at him.

"Max, _no!"_ Belle said sharply, and the dog's exclamations died down to a low growl. Pulling open the gate with a bit of trepidation, the Beast was surprised when she moved immediately to his side. "Max, _quiet,"_ Belle spoke firmly, placing a hand on the Beast's arm. He stopped mid-breath, eyes growing wide in shock. A decade without any kind of human touch—not a handshake, not an embrace, not even the brushing of shoulders—he hadn't realized how much he'd been longing for it.

The dog, for its part, seemed equally shocked by their interaction, his growling dying down and being replaced by a quiet whine of confusion.

"It's all right, Max," Belle went on, voice softer than before. "This is the master. He means no harm, see?"

The place her fingers rested sent a pleasant warmth through the Beast's fur and into his skin, leaving a tingling sensation behind when she pulled away. She moved over to the animal and knelt beside him, now dwarfed by the dog's form. "You're a good boy, Max," she said warmly, rubbing him behind the ears and running a comforting hand through the animal's fur.

 _She touched me,_ the Beast thought, trying to get a grip on himself as she stood and smiled at him. _Belle touched me._ Forcing himself in the present, he moved over and knelt slowly before them. "Bonjour, Max," he said as calmly as he could, not wanting to send the dog into another fit.

The animal looked up at Belle, and she nodded down at him. Max padded cautiously towards the Beast, who remained still as the dog sniffed his paws, his arms, his cloak. Taking a chance, the master reached up carefully and stroked the animal's back with his paw, careful not to let his the claws touch him. To his surprise, Max's tail began to wag in excitement. The Beast let out a nervous chuckle, scratching the dog behind the ears, earning him a wet tongue across the face.

Belle laughed. "He likes you," she grinned.

He smiled back, patting Max on the head before standing. "I'm glad. I wouldn't want to get on his bad side," he teased. She chuckled, moving back to grab Philippe's reins and guiding him through the gate. Max yapped happily at their heels as they followed their usual route to the stables.

"Master?" she asked as she slid off the horse's bridle and placed it on a corner hook.

"Yes?"

"I wanted to apologize," she started quietly.

"Oh, there's no need," the Beast said, watching the dog approach the moving objects in the barn with curiosity. The rake stood stone-still as the animal sniffed it, shuddering as the dog left a trail of saliva down the handle before running off happily to meet the others. "I'm glad Max reacted as he did, he was only trying to protect you—"

"It isn't that," she interrupted. "I'm sorry for…worrying you, the other night. I shouldn't have left so late—I hope I didn't cause you too much anxiety."

The master inhaled sharply. _How could she know why—_ He stopped, glancing at the sword at her hip. _Oh._ "Did Sire Gilles tell you?" he rasped, unsure if he should feel irritated or grateful that he didn't have to share the story of his mother's death himself. Over a decade later, and he could still barely think about it without his insides twisting in grief.

Belle nodded, pursing her lips. She seemed close to tears.

"It's all right, Belle. It was a long time ago," he said quietly, looking away. As he did, he missed her reaching for him briefly, before letting her hand fall back to her side.

"I'll make sure not to leave too late from now on," she promised instead.

The Beast nodded in reply, feeling immensely vulnerable with the current topic. "We're going to continue the harvest today," he started, changing the subject. "If…well, you seemed to enjoy it when we—"

"I'd love to help," she said quickly, some of the earlier brightness coming back to her voice.

The master soon found himself falling into a pleasant routine. They took in the remaining crops over the next couple weeks, moving from the wheat field to the small vegetable garden. Belle would let him fill her apron with cabbages or turnips, clinging to the corners as she carried them into the storage barn. Sometimes, he'd let himself watch her go for a few moments before looking shyly back at the plants.

She reminded him of some of the castle paintings—portraits of commoner women holding armfuls of fruit or posing with a scythe in an open field. As a child he'd once overheard some visiting nobleman speaking of them with hushed disdain, claiming the art depicted peasant life as falsely glamorous, that such beauty could never exist in the lower classes. At the time, their words irritated the young prince primarily because the paintings had been selected by his mother. While not an artist herself, she had spent years gaining an extensive knowledge of art and its history. Now, however, the master realized their words weren't only offensive, but simply wrong. Belle, with her arms full of the harvest and her skirts billowing in the autumn breeze, was even more beautiful than the idealized paintings sought to be.

And she was real.

* * *

"Belle. There's something I haven't told you yet."

Two questioning eyes looked up at him. The master cleared his throat awkwardly, pacing the stables before returning to his companion's side.

"So, the curse. There's—there's actually a way to break it. And, um, well…it has to do with you. O-or it could, if you…" He paused, swallowing roughly and feeling his face burn beneath the fur. Taking a deep breath, he practically blurted out the next line. "If you fall in love with me."

Silence.

He ground his teeth, chewing his lip violently before going on. "I mean, I know that kind of thing takes time…B-but I'm already starting to care for you, and I was thinking it could _possibly_ work out. Maybe. Eventually. Well, before spring, since there's a bit of a deadline…It's just, if you don't, then I'll be like this forever and everyone will die—" He cringed. "I mean, no pressure! I only I thought I should…tell you..." he trailed off, grimacing.

The horse gave a huff of disapproval, turning to munch on a nearby stack of hay.

The Beast sagged his shoulders. "You're right, Olive. Maybe this isn't such a good idea after all." He sighed, leaning against the stall door. The mare, her mouth now full, now looked at him with some kind of sympathy—or at least she seemed to. He smiled, running a paw across her back. "I think it's time to find someone who can give me a little more feedback. Thanks for listening, though."

It didn't take long to find who he was looking for—the woman always seemed to be at the center of the castle's activity.

"Mrs. Potts, may I speak with you?"

"Of course, Master. What is it?"

He chewed his lip for a long moment, before picking her up carefully and moving down the hall to an empty sitting room.

"Oh dear, I hope it's nothing serious," she said lightly. He couldn't tell if she was teasing him or not, currently too distracted with his thoughts.

"Mrs. Potts, I need your advice. I wasn't sure who else to ask." When she didn't respond, he went on. "So just imagine you're a young woman, and—" He stopped, realizing what he'd said as he looked down at her sheepishly.

One painted brow was raised in mild irritation. "It'll be tough, but I'll try," she said curtly.

"S-sorry, Mrs. Potts, I didn't mean—I'm not saying you're _not_ young, I only meant—"

"It's all right, dear. This is about Belle, isn't it?"

He sighed. "Yes. And the curse. I still don't know if I should tell her." The woman didn't seem surprised, so he went on. "It's just—on the one hand, if I keep it a secret, I'm basically manipulating her for my own ends." He scowled, thinking how such a description matched what that man in town had done to Belle. "But if I tell her, she'll probably just run off—" He paused. "No, she wouldn't. Belle would try anything to help," he said warmly.

"I agree," the teapot smiled.

The master frowned again. "But it doesn't seem right to place such a burden on her either," he went on. "And I wonder if she could really love me under that kind of pressure." He looked back down at the kettle. "I suppose I was just wondering which _you_ would want, if you were in Belle's shoes."

"Mmm," Mrs. Potts hummed. "I can tell you've put a lot of thought into this, dear."

He nodded. _Every night,_ he thought.

"Have you tried writing your thoughts down?" she asked. He shook his head. "Well, that might help make things more clear. In the meantime, I'll think on it myself. How does that sound, love?"

"Yes, yes all right, Mrs. Potts. Thank you," he said sincerely, bringing her back out to the hall where he'd found her before heading straight for his father's old office.

The room was dark, and fairly unused. It was a room of conflicting memories—some good, others terrifying. The Beast rested a hand against the shelves lining the walls, the smell of parchment and old oak bookcases reminding him of days spent studying alongside his father.

He shook his head, remembering the task at hand. Sitting down at the desk, he tugged open a drawer and pulled out a decade-old sheet of parchment before dipping a quill into half-hardened ink. Taking a deep breath, he began to write. _Belle, there's more to the curse than you know—_ he thought, scratching the words into the parchment. Looking them over, however, his heart flew into his throat.

 _Don't go sharing secrets, my pet,_ the paper read.

He stared at the words for nearly a minute, mouth dry, eyes unblinking as he read them over a dozen times. "What…" he finally breathed, scratching out the strange line and trying once again.

 _We have to fall in love to break the spell,_ he thought very clearly, writing each word with care. Or at least, he tried to.

 _Don't go sharing secr—_ it read, though the Beast stopped before he finished this time. He stared at the sheet in horror; he had definitely _not_ been trying to write that.

Dipping the quill back in the well, he scribbled a dozen different explanations of the spell—yet each time, that same unnerving line would flow from his strokes. He was writing with such force that he finally tore a hole in the parchment itself, the ink marking the fine wood below. Shaking, he pushed himself quickly away from the desk.

 _My pet._ The words seemed to mock him from the page, and he shuddered. Only one being had ever called him that—the one who put him in this mess in the first place. Heart in his throat, he stood, eyes tearing across the room for any sign of the witch, but it was as still and empty as ever. As some of his fear subsided, his thoughts turned back to Belle, back to his dilemma about keeping the curse a secret from her. Realization swept over him.

_Could I even tell her if I wanted to?_

* * *

Belle was lost again.

At the moment, however, she hadn't yet _realized_ she was lost as she gazed upon a beautiful painting of the Annunciation. She sighed, priding herself in how well she'd managed to slip past the servants after lunch. She truly enjoyed their company, but there was something about traversing the dark halls alone that gave her a thrill. It was just so still, lined with paintings and tapestries and stained glass windows that seemed to speak to her in their own, silent way.

As if to mock her reverie, a sudden, distant clanging sound rang out from the shadows. Startled, Belle stared towards the source of the noise, though saw only darkness. It had the cadence of footfalls, yet vibrated off the walls like metal on metal. Belle's imagination quickly created a terrifying image of a demon from hell, wrapped in chains and roaming the mysterious halls in search of its next victim.

"Th-that's ridiculous," she told herself. As the sound grew ever louder, however, she finally gave into her fear. _What was I thinking wandering around alone?_ she though anxiously. Though she'd been treated well so far, there was no guarantee the palace didn't contain dangers in its depths. After all, what did she know about enchanted castles?

Swallowing roughly, Belle retraced her steps, looking around desperately for somewhere to hide. With the sound nearly upon her and the closest rooms too far back to reach in time, she opted to duck behind one of the thick curtains lining the corridor windows. She held her breath, the footfalls echoing loudly in her ears as they drew close.

Suddenly, they stopped. Belle waited, barely breathing as the silence sat heavy in the air for a long minute. Eventually, she couldn't resist pulling the curtains apart to take a peak. A man in full-body armor stood in the center of the hall, but a couple paces away. His head swiveled in each direction, humming in confusion. At last, he shrugged, turning to look at one of the paintings Belle had been previously admiring.

 _A human,_ Belle realized in shock. _What could he be doing here?_

The man continued admiring the mural for several long minutes. He certainly seemed harmless enough. Curiosity outweighing her fears, Belle parted the curtain slowly and cleared her throat. "Bonjour, Monsieur."

He gasped, turning around quickly and nearly toppling to the ground. Belle reached out just in time to stable the man, who backed away quickly and gave an awkward curtsy.

_A curtsy?_

"Oh!" Belle cried. "I didn't realize…are you…"

"Sophie, at your service, mademoiselle," a female voice spoke, ringing hollowly from within the metal helmet. "And you must be Belle! I've been hoping we would meet soon."

"It's a pleasure," Belle said, still perplexed by this revelation. "I'm sorry, I'm just…surprised. I wasn't expecting…"

"A woman?" the voice asked in good humor. "Surely you've heard of Joan of Arc, no?"

Belle's eyes grew wide. "Of course! I didn't mean—"

Sophie only laughed. "Just teasing—I'm but a humble maid. A girl can dream, though, right?"

By now, Belle was thoroughly confused. "But then…why are you wearing that?" she asked, motioning to the heavy metal covering the woman's entire frame.

Sophie reached up slowly, pulling off the helmet to reveal an empty suit of armor.

Belle gasped in surprise, a hand over her racing heart.

The woman chuckled as she replaced the headgear. "Sorry—couldn't resist. I've always wanted to do that."

Belle let herself laugh a little. "It's all right. I should really be used to that by now." She paused, cocking her head. "But if you were a maid…why were you transformed into a suit of armor?"

"Oh, has no one told you?" Sophie asked. "We all changed into the last object we touched on the night of the curse. Which, for most of the others, was something a little more relevant to their line of work. Lumiere and his footmen, for instance, were putting out the candles, the rest handing the few lingering guests their cloaks from the coatracks as they departed into the night," she explained. "Mrs. Potts was pouring herself a cup of tea after a busy night, and we can only guess that little Jack had reached out to touch her cup as she held him. Oh and old Cogsworth, he was winding the clocks as he did each night—a bit obsessive, if you ask me," she chuckled. "As for the other maids, most of them were busy cleaning up after the feast, so you've got a group of feather dusters and mops—"

"The feast?"

"Oh, yes. It was the autumn-time Day of Assumption. Each year the king held a grand feast for all the local—"

"The king?"

Sophie cocked her metal head. "Goodness, you really are out of the loop." She paused nervously. "Perhaps I should let the master explain…"

"No, no it's all right," Belle said quickly, anxious to learn more. "He, um, seems a little uncomfortable talking about it."

"Oh, well, can't really blame him," Sophie said vaguely. "I can tell you this much though: one minute I'm cleaning out this suit of armor—into which a very inebriated guest had decided to empty the contents of his stomach—and the next thing I know, I'm trapped inside it!"

Belle wrinkled her nose. "That certainly sounds…unpleasant."

Sophie laughed again. "Well, I sure didn't feel lucky when I got picked for such a dirty job—seemed I always got the brunt work, being the youngest maid. Though I have to admit, it paid off. I'm the only one around here with a decent pair of legs, after all," she said proudly, bending up and down on her knees a couple times.

Belle laughed. "Much better than a feather duster, I would think," she conceded. "…How old were you, when it happened?" she prodded.

"But nineteen, mademoiselle."

"And now?"

"Oh—well, just turned twenty-nine this last summer. Not that birthdays are much fun around here—can't even eat a bite of cake! It's quite depressing, really."

Belle was only half listening. "It's…it's been ten years?" she asked in shock.

"Feels more like twenty if I'm being honest," the armor shrugged.

Belle frowned, trying to process this new information. _A decade…that means the master was only ten when he was cursed,_ she realized. If Belle didn't already perceive the injustice of the enchantress's actions, this would have only confirmed it. Certainly a child couldn't have done anything to deserve such a fate.

"Mademoiselle, are you well?"

Belle shook herself from her thoughts. "Yes, yes I'm quite all right. I'm sorry, what were you were saying about a feast?"

"Oh yes. It was a beautiful event—the summer harvest would be brought in, and candles and flowers from the gardens would line the halls. Of course, we would all be slaving away for weeks leading up to it, but His Majesty would always let us attend the holiday's Mass and have our own grand dinner at the end of the night. It was quite a treat—nearly as good as Christmas!"

"But then what happened?" Belle prodded.

"Mmm, I didn't see it myself. Took me about a week just to hobble out of the Hall of Arms. But some of the servants claim they saw the witch—a giant, terrifying woman dragging the young master through the halls." The armor seemed to shudder at that. "He won't tell us what happened though, not even Mrs. Potts. And he tells her _everything._ All we know is, the enchantress pulled him into his father's office, and after that the king was never seen again—"

"The king?" Belle asked in surprise. "The king was his _father?"_

Sophie grew strangely quiet. "…Oops."

Belle thought back to the portrait of the master as a child, realizing those weren't just robes of nobility he wore—they were robes of _royalty. Sacrebleu,_ she thought in shock. _He's a—_

"Belle?" a deep voice called out.

Belle looked up, seeing the Beast heading towards them down the long hall. Something cold gripped her arm. "Don't tell him I told you!" Sophie whispered nervously. "He doesn't—he doesn't accept the title anymore, mademoiselle—" She stopped abruptly, pulling away and giving another lopsided curtsy as the master approached.

"Oh, Sophie," he said, nodding her direction. "You've met Belle?"

"Y-yes, m'lord," she replied, still clearly anxious about her slip as she looked back at Belle.

Belle, however, was watching the Beast. He too seemed anxious, nearly as much as he had the night she left so late. She glanced towards the window—it was still midday, the weather cold but clear as sunlight poured over the trees.

"May I speak with you, Belle?" he asked. She thought she caught a strange tremor in his voice.

"Of course, Master." She turned back to the armor. "It was nice to meet you, Sophie."

"And you, Mademoiselle Belle."

"Just Belle is fine," she smiled, before giving a quiet nod. _I won't tell,_ she hoped to convey. Sophie seemed to catch her meaning, her body visibly relaxing before clanking off down the hall.

Beside her, the Beast was still for a heartbeat before offering a nervous arm. Belle took it carefully, mind still racing with what she'd learned as she glanced discreetly up at him. No name, no title. _A prince in disguise,_ she recalled. _No wonder it's his favorite story._ She pursed her lips, torn between pride at her discovery and a fresh wave of shyness. Had she really been uprooting turnips and organizing bookshelves with a _prince?_

He led her quietly through the maze of halls towards the southern wing, where they retrieved her cloak from the kitchen before entering the gardens. Here, many of the plants had lost their greenery to the season's cold, though several pretty evergreen bushes lined their path that made Belle momentarily forget her thoughts. They appeared to be recently pruned, though the upper branches grew unchecked—no doubt too high for whatever human-occupied tool had made the attempt.

The Beast stopped them near an old stone bench, where Belle sat and took in their surroundings. Despite the web of plants, a clear path lie ahead of her and she could just make out the stables beyond. She wasn't sure why, but she felt that despite the privacy the garden offered, he'd chosen somewhere open enough that she could leave quickly should she desire too.

Looking back at the master, Belle watched as he furrowed his brows, staring at the ground where he stood. Before she could ask what was wrong, he spoke. "Belle, there's…something I want to tell you. But I don't know if I can."

Belle's heart raced, thinking of all the things she still didn't know. And the very important piece of knowledge she had just gained. "Master…if you're worried I'll tell someone in the village, I can assure you I would never—"

"No," he said seriously. "No, it's not like that."

Belle was quiet for a long moment. "My lord," she started carefully. "…Whatever it is, you can tell me. I'll understand."

He visibly relaxed at that. "I believe you would," he admitted warmly. "But I was speaking literally."

Belle frowned, confused. Sweeping his cloak aside, the master sat beside her, a safe but familiar distance away. He leaned forward onto his knees, intertwining his fingers and squeezing them together as he took a deep breath. "Belle," he said at last, looking over at her. "It's about the—" He stopped abruptly, and his paw flew to his throat, cringing as though something were lodged in his airway.

"Master?" Belle breathed nervously, reaching towards him on impulse. When he couldn't respond, a sudden terror filled her chest. "M-my lord, are you all right?!" she cried, grasping his arm with desperate but useless hands.

He managed a nod, squeezing his eyes shut for a long moment before finally gasping for breath. "That's what I was afraid of," he choked out at last. He panted for a few moments before looking back at her. "I'm sorry. There was something I wished to tell you…but it appears the curse has rendered me mute on the matter."

Belle hadn't a clue what to think of that. What on earth could he have wanted to say? And why wouldn't the enchantment let him?

"It's all right. You're in no danger," the Beast explained quickly, mistaking her confusion for fear.

"Oh, no, I wasn't…to be honest, I was only thinking what a terrible mystery you've given me," she admitted, smiling a bit.

The corner of his mouth twitched up at that, even as a strange look crossed his face. "Well…if anyone can solve it, I believe it's you."


	7. Chapter 6

" _The Complete Lineage of French Royalty?"_ the bookseller asked in bewilderment. "You're sure you want to borrow _this_ one, Belle?"

"Yes, yes," she said eagerly, bouncing impatiently on her heel as the man moved slowly down the ladder with a large volume in tow. As soon as he handed it over, she hoisted it onto the shop's corner table, blowing off a thick layer of dust before heaving it open. "When did you say this one was published, Monsieur?"

"Oh, can't be more than ten, fifteen years ago," he replied, moving across the small room to sort through some of the more popular novels. "I'm afraid it's the most recent I have—there's not much demand for such texts around here," he chuckled.

"It's all right, it's recent enough," Belle replied, before sweeping through the pages in silence for several long minutes. _He's got to be in here somewhere,_ she thought determinedly, huffing a bit of hair from her eyes as she continued to read. She still had no idea what the master had been trying to tell her the other day, but she figured his identity might be a good place to start.

"Aha!" she cried in sudden triumph, finally locating their northern province in one of the later chapters. The poor shopkeeper nearly toppled off the small ladder in shock as Belle read the passage with earnest, skipping past rows of century-old names to those from just decades earlier. Her finger ran down the page quickly, finally nearing the year of interest when—

"Where's the rest of it?" she asked aloud. The list stopped well before the publish date, skipping straight to the next region on the list and leaving theirs utterly, irritatingly incomplete.

"Mmm?" the man asked absently.

Belle only frowned, staring at the two disjointed pages in confusion. It was then she noticed the small but clearly jagged edge along the centerfold of the open book. Running a finger down the seam, her heart fell into her stomach—someone had torn the page from its binding. "Oh, of all the pages!" she cried in frustration, plopping down into a chair in defeat.

"Dear girl, whatever's the matter?"

Belle bit her lip. "I was just…I was hoping to learn more about King Victor's relatives," she admitted.

"Whatever for?"

"Oh, I was just…curious," she fibbed.

The man didn't seem the least bit perturbed by that answer—it was in her character, after all. However, he did look oddly nervous all of a sudden, glancing out the window and frowning deeply.

"Monsieur?" Belle asked in concern, sitting up in her seat and watching in bewilderment as the old man moved to shut the curtains, then the door, which he promptly bolted.

"You didn't hear this from me, Belle," he said seriously, settling his tired body in the chair across from her, before adjusting the spectacles on the tip of his nose.

Belle's eyes grew wide, but she quickly nodded.

"The truth is…our king had a brother," he whispered.

"A younger brother?" Belle asked, wondering if she was finally getting close to discovering the master's identify.

"No, older."

"Oh," Belle said in disappointment, before realizing another possibility. "Did—did he have any children? His brother, I mean."

"Mmm, not sure. From what I've read, it seems those royal folks liked to keep their children a secret for as long as possible—you know, to protect their heirs from any who would wish the family's power in the hands of another."

Belle's shoulders sagged a bit. "I suppose that makes sense."

"But Belle, that page," he said, motioning to the book beside her. "It wasn't taken by a careless customer. It was removed by royal decree."

"…What?" she asked in confusion.

"You were too young to have been paying attention to such matters. But King Alexandre, the rightful ruler of this kingdom…he disappeared mysteriously a decade ago. Victor initially declared his brother's death the act of a demon," he explained. "But not a year passed, and any who even made mention of the late king was…cut down," he said darkly. "A royal guard even showed up at my tiny bookshop, demanding I show him any book with mention of Alexandre and removing each reference from its binding."

 _"Sacrebleu,"_ Belle breathed in shock. "King Victor…he was trying to erase history!"

"And his own crimes, I believe," the man added. "A brother killing a brother for power? It's certainly not unheard of."

Belle frowned. The "demon" explanation actually matched up best with what the servants had told her about the night of the curse—the witch could certainly fit such a description. From what they'd said, it seemed pretty obvious she was the one who had to do with the king's disappearance. But Belle couldn't imagine that _two_ kings had mysteriously vanished a decade ago. No, it had to be the same man. This Alexandre was most certainly the master's father. And if that was true…their present king was his uncle.

 _To my favorite little explorer,_ the inside cover of the child's novel had read. _Love, Uncle Victor._

Belle pursed her lips. It seemed with one answer came a dozen others. And she doubted she'd get many of them answered with every book in the county censored and its residents' lips sealed on the matter. It seemed she would have to trust that the master would tell her himself when he was ready.

That is…if he _could_ tell her.

* * *

"So it appears we can only discuss how to break the curse amongst ourselves," Lumiere concluded. He, Cogsworth, and Mrs. Potts—the highest ranking staff members and the master's informal council—were gathered in a quiet hall early in the morning discussing this latest discovery.

"And I can't explain it in writing either," the Beast added. He thought, in some chagrin, that if he'd actually made any attempt at journaling over the years, he might have realized this sooner. Since his attempt to tell Belle how to break the curse, he'd asked several of the servants to try and explain in his place—yet anyone who tried to explain experienced the same inability to speak as he had. It was strange; for weeks he'd been so conflicted over whether to reveal the truth, yet the moment he realized the witch _didn't_ want him to tell Belle about it, he was determined to do just that.

"Well, I say it's for the best," Cogsworth huffed, forever the pragmatist of the group. "Who knows how she'd react to such knowledge? We shouldn't have risked it in the first place."

"But Cogsworth, think of the kind of leverage the master would have if he could explain," Lumiere said earnestly. "Surely if she knew her love would transform him into a handsome prince with a right to the crown, she would jump at the opportunity!"

"I don't…I don't know about _handsome,"_ the Beast said in embarrassment.

Mrs. Potts chuckled. "Don't sell yourself short, love."

The master cleared his throat in discomfort before going on. "Well, even if I _could_ tell her, I don't believe Belle would fall in love with someone just because they're rich and, um…attractive," he said awkwardly. By Belle's description, Gaston was both of those things—and she wanted nothing to do with him.

"If that's true, she's better that most of us," a rich voice observed. They looked up, watching as Madame de la Grande Boche lumbered down the hall. The wardrobe fell heavily onto a small sofa along the wall beside them. "Though if I could just find myself a nice bureau to settle down with, I'd be happy," she sighed in jest.

Lumiere and Mrs. Potts laughed at that, and even Cogsworth cracked a grin. The master, however, stood still, unsatisfied with the present outcome as they began to depart for their daily tasks.

A moment later, he felt a small nudge against his foot. "No use in feeling bad about something you can't control," Mrs. Potts offered from below, as though reading his mind. "I daresay you've been as honest as you could be with her."

The Beast nodded slowly, smiling a bit. "I suppose you're right."

* * *

As the first true frost settled over the valley, Belle again spent her mornings with the horses. If he wasn't needed in the castle, the Beast would join her in the stables before their afternoons in the library. With Belle's help, he found the work on his parent's index ten times more enjoyable than ever before. However, they didn't make much more progress than when he worked alone, since every dozen books or so one of them would find themselves browsing through one of interest.

He didn't mind, though.

"M-Master?"

The Beast looked up, having been immersed in a tome on sixteenth century politics as the door to the library cracked open one afternoon.

Cogsworth waddled inside, huffing a bit as he caught his breath. "I'm—I'm sorry to disturb you, my lord."

"It's fine. What's wrong?" the master asked, noticing the clock seemed even more nervous than normal. Behind him, Belle slid down one of the tall shelf ladders, setting a stack of books on the floor before moving towards them.

"It's Chip… _again,"_ Cogsworth explained, wringing his small metal hands together.

The Beast cursed under his breath. "Where is he this time?" he asked, now nervous himself as he dropped the book on the closest shelf and moved towards the door.

"Atop the dining cabinet, Master," Cogsworth explained, following each of the Beast's large strides with a dozen of his own. "My apologies, my lord—but none of us could reach him."

"It's fine," the master repeated, breathing a little easier. The dining cabinet should prove easier than the organ, at least.

As they entered the hall, Belle stood in place behind them, feeling anxious but not wanting to get in anyone's way. She sighed, picking up the books she was sorting through and trying to focus on the task at hand.

Several minutes passed, and she had just started penning in a few book titles into one of the indices when she was startled by a horrible crashing sound from deep in the castle. Her heart seemed to stop as the sound echoed off the walls, followed by a terrible howl. "Oh…oh, _no,"_ she breathed, imagining the worst as she ran out into the hall. She followed the sound of the deep cries, dashing down the stairs towards the kitchens. Rounding a corner, she stared in horror at the enormous dining cabinet, now face down on the floor, dozens of dishes shattered across the hard floors. By now, the howls had vanished as the Beast knelt on the ground, chest heaving as his whole body seemed to tremble.

"Master…Master, it's all right," Lumiere was saying, resting a golden hand against his arm. The candelabra seemed a bit shaken, but not upset. "They were all inanimates, my lord."

The Beast didn't seem to hear him as he cradled several pieces of broken porcelain in his hands.

"It was only a plate, love," Mrs. Potts said on his other side, little Chip alive and well beside her as the boy nudged the Beast's quaking paw. "No harm done, see?"

"Ch-Charlotte," the master finally gasped, eyes still glazed over. "Oh, God…oh, _God…"_

"That wasn't Charlotte," the old teapot went on, voice growing more anxious with each moment. "N-no one was hurt. Just—just try to stay with me, dear. Try to stay with me."

Around them, living objects were gathering, their uneasy chatter swelling in the low-ceilinged kitchen. The Beast's paws curled around the sharp fragments in his hands, blood starting to drip through his fingers. His trembling seemed to increase in proportion to the volume of voices around him, eyes large and unblinking as he stared at the floor.

Belle sucked in a sharp breath, no longer seeing the master before her as much as another man she knew well. "Mrs. Potts," she said calmly, by their side in a moment. "Is there somewhere quiet nearby we can go?"

The woman looked up at her in shock. "O-oh—well, yes, yes there is. The servants' quarters—they're just in the next hall over."

Belle nodded, before looking up at the Beast. "Master, it's Belle. Can you hear me?"

He looked over slowly, confusion sweeping over his face until he caught her eyes. "…Belle?" he asked, as though the name didn't fully register.

"Yes, it's me. I'm going to take your arm now," she explained carefully. "Can you stand?"

He stared at her for another long moment before nodding. She gently grasped his arm with both hands and helped him to his feet as best she could, ignoring the blood from his paws that dripped on her skirt as they wove through the crowd and towards the abandoned servant's quarters.

By the time they reached an empty room, his trembling had ceased, though his breaths were still shallow and forced. Belle sat him down on one of the small beds near the hearth, keeping a hand on his arm as he started to calm down.

"Can you feel me, Master? I'm right here," she said quietly.

He nodded.

"We're just in one of the servant's rooms. Everyone is safe. You're safe, okay?"

He nodded again, finally breathing easier though still not quite in the present as he stared absently across the room. A few minutes later, Mrs. Potts came in filled with steaming water and riding a serving tray pilled with rags and bandages. Belle sighed in gratitude for the woman's foresight.

The master eventually let her take the fragments of chipped porcelain from his grasp before she set about cleaning the cuts in his palms. It took care to remove the blood from his matted fur, but she was in no rush.

Soon, a crackling came from the hearth as a couple more servants quietly started a fire. The Beast stared at Belle as she worked to wrap clean bandages across his giant palms.

"I…I'm sorry," he finally managed, squeezing his eyes shut as he turned away.

"Don't be," Belle said straightly, tucking in the final wrappings and pulling away. "I'm here to help, remember?"

His eyes opened again and he looked back slowly. He didn't quite smile, but looked grateful nonetheless. As he stared back down at his bandaged paws, Belle stood and followed Mrs. Potts into the hall to help clean up the mess back in the kitchen.

"My dear…how did you know what to do?" the woman asked as soon as she shut the door behind them.

Belle glanced back at the room, frowning sadly. "My papa gets like that sometimes, but much worse. He fought in the war before I was born, and Mama told me he's never been quite the same. I've—I've seen her help him through his fits many times. And then…I have myself since she grew ill."

"What a blessing we had you here," the old pot sighed in gratitude. "But I am sorry for your dear father. Soldiers sacrifice more than lives and limbs, I believe."

Belle nodded, biting her lip before going on. "No one knew, until a few years back," she went on, staring absently across the small hall. "He went on a hunting trip with some of the men. We thought he'd be fine—hadn't had a fit in years by then—but I guess the sound of so many guns at once set him off. O-our neighbors…they had to carry him home," she whispered, swallowing roughly. "Now, people in town call him weak. Some even call him mad. Say—say no man in his right mind would behave like that." Belle stopped, curling her fists as her eyes began to sting. "But it isn't his fault. Something—something j-just happened to him, th-that's all."

"Of course, dear. Of course." Mrs. Potts said gently.

"H-he fought for them, and they—they treat him like that, just for feeling frightened," she said, now struggling to hold back tears as the stress of the day caught up to her. "Just…just for _feeling_ something."

"Oh, love," Mrs. Potts went on softly. "I'm afraid people can be cruel towards things they don't understand."

Belle nodded again. "Yes. They can." She was quiet for a long moment, and the woman waited patiently until she spoke again. "Mrs. Potts?" she finally asked.

"Yes, dear?"

Belle looked back at the closed door before turning back to the teapot. "…Who was Charlotte?"

* * *

_"M-my lord! Please, please come quickly!"_

_The young master looked up from his texts, watching as a small salad bowl rolled quickly over the carpet and into his feet._

_"Do you mind?!" a gruff voice spoke, a large, feathery quill dragging itself to the edge of the desk and seeming to glare down at the intruder. "I will not tolerate interruptions to my lessons! The master has been dutifully focused on his arithmetic and I will not have you—"_

_"B-but Charlotte is on the roof!" the bowl cried desperately. "She's—she's going to jump, my lord!"_

_Heart catching in his throat, the teenager knocked a dozen papers to the ground as he sprinted out the door and towards the tower. Still not used to the strange way his new legs moved, he fell into a more natural gallop on all fours as he climbed the long stairwell._

_The windows of the empty dungeons were surrounded by other servants, various household objects peering out into the midday sun._

_"He's here!"_

_"Young lord!"_

_"Master!"_

_He ignored their cries of alarm, pushing his way through the crowd of objects and sticking his head through one of the narrow windows. "Charlotte!" he shouted, a lingering crack in his voice as he squinted against the sun. The rooftops reflected back at him brightly, covered with moss and debris. Throat growing dry, he finally spotted her above him, the little plate skirting anxiously in the storm drain._

_"Charlotte, don't move. I'm going to get you down," he said slowly, squeezing out the window and trying in vain to reach her with still-growing arms, wondering how in the world she'd managed to get in such a position._

_"Don't," she whispered, skirting further away. "Please…just let me—"_

_"I won't let you die!" he cried, reaching more desperately, clawed paws propping him against the cool outer stone as he tried not to fall himself._

_"Why?" she asked quietly, suddenly still against the roof top. "I don't matter. I'm a salad plate, my lord." She stopped, leaning precariously close to the edge. "…A salad plate."_

_Inside the tower, the servants heard the boy's sudden, roar-like scream followed by a small crack against the rooftops. Pushing the others aside, Lumiere hopped up onto the window's ledge, looking out for a moment. His metal shoulders sagged immediately, turning around slowly and motioning a couple of the footmen to his side. The coat racks obeyed, helping him pull the master back inside before he could fall himself._

_"No—wait—I have to—" the beast-child gasped, fighting against them as they dragged him away from the window. "I can fix her…I-I just need to gather the pieces…please, Lumiere, let me go!"_

_"Master, she's gone," Lumiere said quietly, resting a waxy hand on his shoulder. "She's gone."_

_A terrible silence fell over the crowd of servants, pierced by the quiet sobs of a little salad bowl._

_"No…no…" the master choked out. "I…I couldn't…oh, God. O-oh…God…"_

"Oh, Mrs. Potts," Belle said sadly, heart breaking. They now sat beside the hearth in the kitchen, where Mrs. Potts had quietly related the event.

"The master blamed himself," the woman went on. "Perhaps still does. From a young age he felt responsible for the castle and its occupants. More than he needed to, but it gave him purpose. It was after her passing that I believe he realized we _all_ needed to have a purpose, too.

"For some of us, it came naturally. I had a child to care for, and could still brew the master a cup of tea should he need it. The stable boys still had the animals to tend to, the Cardinal and organist gave us peace on the Sabbath, the master's tutor continued his lessons almost as if nothing had changed. And Cogsworth, as usual, could always find something to fuss about," she smiled, before sobering. "But my poor kitchen girls, all turned into the dishes and utensils they'd been washing the moment of the curse—they and so many others found themselves suddenly useless."

"So what changed?" Belle asked curiously.

"Well, the master didn't know what to do. He was fourteen, I believe? So he counseled with us, as he still does with such things. It was actually Lumiere who came up with the idea to open the library to everyone. In fact, the master hadn't even realized the staff didn't have access to it before the curse—he'd just assumed no one shared his interest in reading," she said with a fond smile. "However, we quickly realized that many of the household were illiterate—and before you know it, those who could read were teaching those who couldn't. Even the master insisted he and his tutor help, which the man found quite beneath him, but knew better than to argue with the boy over such things," she chuckled. "It was quite an exciting time, in fact. I don't believe that library has ever been so used, or loved, as it was that year everyone learned together."

"Everyone here can read?" Belle asked in awe. She knew how uncommon it was to read in her village, or at least read well, especially among the women.

"Yes. Everyone," Mrs. Potts said warmly, though her smile fell quickly. "Even then, though, it was still difficult for many of us without…" She stopped, trailing off.

"…Without what, Mrs. Potts?" Belle asked carefully.

"Oh, this must sound strange. But…well, it's quite hard to go so long without…being touched."

Belle's eyes grew wide. "I…I didn't realize you could…"

"Feel?" the woman smiled. "Yes, we can, to an extent. I believe it differs depending on our form. I can, obviously, tolerate extreme heat," she chuckled, a bit of steam escaping her spout before going on. "But try to imagine, dear, living even a year without the touch of another, the warmth of those you love."

Belle blinked slowly, her observations of the Beast suddenly coming together. The way he would rest a paw against a living chair, or reposition a chatty frame, or tenderly shut the drawers of a sleeping armoire. He was, after all, the only one with blood and warmth, the only one who could offer any semblance of human touch. She thought about his reaction when she'd merely rested a hand on his arm on Max's first visit, realizing that of everyone here, he was the only one who'd never had his efforts reciprocated.

Belle looked back at Mrs. Potts, who suddenly looked as though she'd remembered something very upsetting. She thought of this grandmother before her, and the little boy she'd been left to care for. She sucked in a breath of terrible realization. "M-Mrs. Potts…how old was Chip when you were cursed?"

The woman sighed. "But an infant, my dear."

_"Shhh, don't…d-don't cry, love," the grandmother whispered desperately, the infant's lonely cries echoing in the night. "I'm here, little one, I'm—I'm right here," she said, holding back a sob. The child's cries only grew, a vocal expression of the dread and fear that had filled the castle for the last two days._

_"Mrs. Potts?" a small voice asked from the darkness. "Mrs. Potts, is that you?" She looked up to see the prince in the doorway, holding a candle that set his face aglow. His eyes were rimmed with a deep red, still-human cheeks wet with undried tears as he moved over beside them._

_"Master," she said, desperate to cry herself but, of course, no longer able to. "I-I'm so sorry, my lord, I just can't seem to comfort him," she said, hearing her ragged voice echo strangely from her porcelain cage. "I've tried filling him with warm tea, but it only calms him for a short while. He just, he wants to be held, b-but I can no longer …" she trailed off, voice cracking as terror and helplessness consumed her._

_The prince was staring at them, appearing as helpless as she felt. What was she doing, placing her troubles on the young lord? The child's father had vanished on the night of the spell, and his mother but a year prior. And little did she know at the time that he, too, would soon endure his own transformation._

_"I'm so sorry, dear," she said quickly. "You need not trouble yourself with—" She stopped as the boy set the candle on the table and picked up the small teacup in silence. Mrs. Potts watched in surprise as he cradled the little porcelain infant in small, careful hands. The child's cries faded in an instant._

_"Th-thank you, Master," she whispered, heart swelling with gratitude. "Thank you."_

By now, Belle was stunned into silence by everything she'd learned. She stared at her hands as she tried to make sense of it all. She had, of course, assumed the servants had endured much in their transformations. But she was just starting to see all it had really entailed.

"It's not been an easy road," Mrs. Potts went on. "But look at us all now! We're doing quite well, if I do say so myself."

Belle looked up, watching the teapot beside her for a long moment as she thought.

_"Try to imagine, dear, living without the touch of another."_

"My, it's grown so late already," the woman noted, glancing over the darkening grounds. "We'll clean things up here, love. You better—" Mrs. Potts stopped, her painted eyes growing wide as Belle rested a hand against her warm lid.

"Thank you, Mrs. Potts," she said. She was quiet for a moment, before going on. "You know, I've been missing my mother quite a bit lately. But I'm glad—I'm glad you're here," she said quickly, biting her lip before standing quickly to retrieve her cloak and bid farewell to the others, giving each a quiet touch on her way.

Mrs. Potts watched her leave, recalling her own daughter she'd lost so long ago and thinking perhaps she felt a warmth inside that wasn't from the water in her pot.

* * *

Late the next day, the Beast moved slowly towards the back exit to the stables. He realized he'd been avoiding Belle ever since his… _incident_ the day before, but soon his desire to see her had outweighed his embarrassment. He felt his bandaged hands, chest growing warm as he recalled the feeling of her fingers against his palms—

"Good afternoon, m'lord."

The master started, glancing towards the voice and spotting a small landscape painting hanging against the wall beside him. "O-oh, Timothée. Good afternoon." He paused, scrunching his brows as he thought. "How long have you been there?"

"About a week," he replied, his frame curving up ever so slightly as if shrugging. "Violet read me some of _Aesop's Fables_ yesterday, which was quite enjoyable."

The Beast frowned, realizing he'd been neglecting the man. "I'm sorry. I've been a bit…distracted, lately, I suppose."

"And why's that, Master?" the man prodded, chuckling to himself.

The master only grinned, thinking of Belle again. "Where would you like to go today?" he asked, ignoring the question.

Timothée hummed as he thought. "Perhaps before the Bellini, in the Grand Hall? Only if it's not too much trouble."

The Beast shook his head, pulling the man down from his hook before yanking the nail from its place in the wall. He found some amusement in imagining what his predecessors would think of him driving holes all over their grand palace, but he'd long since stopped caring about such things. "Where's the—" He stopped, spotting the hammer on the small table several paces away. Grabbing it, he moved towards his destination and drove the nail into an old hole that faced a beautiful painting of the Madonna and Child on the opposite wall.

"Thank you, Master," the man said once settled in place.

The Beast nodded, heading back towards his original destination. At the top of the stairwell leading to the kitchens, however, he froze as a dozen giggles echoed through the air. A now-familiar voice emerged as the crowd calmed down.

"There we were—me on Philippe and Gaston on his young, prize-winning thoroughbred, _so_ convinced he'd be leaving me in the dust," Belle said to the quieting voices. "As one of the other boys raised the gun high above his head, I took a deep breath, ignoring their jeers as I stared at the wooded path before us." Belle paused for just a moment. "Then I smiled—knowing _I_ was going to win this race."

"But Philippe is a _farm_ horse!" one of the women cried.

"How did you ever expect to win?" another chimed in.

"She couldn't have—the girl's pulling our leg!"

"I'm _not,"_ Belle said earnestly, and the Beast could almost hear the smirk in her voice, the hushed quiet of the women as they waited for an explanation. Even he found himself leaning over the railing for a better listen. "The fire was shot, and Gaston was off like a bolt," she went on. "Philippe ached to follow, but I held him back, giving my rival a nice, _long_ head start."

"What?!"

"No! Why?"

The Beast took a few quiet steps further down the stairs, the side of Belle's face coming into view as he ducked to look between the banisters. He was right—she was grinning ear to ear when she spoke again. "Because _I_ knew a shortcut."

The room filled with a chorus of high-pitched cheers and laughter. _A good storyteller,_ the master thought absently.

"By the time he made it to the lake, I'd been there a solid ten minutes!" Belle went on in victory. "And I didn't cheat, mind you—we only agreed whoever made it there first would win."

The master found himself grinning now, imagining a smaller Belle racing through the woods towards her victory and the blow it must have dealt to this kid Gaston—the one who had clearly grown into scoundrel.

"What did you win?" someone asked in earnest.

"Pride," Belle laughed. "It was quite a feat, considering he was already of age and I just a scrawny preteen," she continued, before pouting. "To be honest, I was kind of hoping to injure _his_ pride enough that he'd leave me alone." She sighed. "I think I made it worse, though."

The Beast scowled. He hadn't realized Gaston was that much older than her. Not that such an age gap was odd in adulthood—but for a grown man, even barely, to be eyeing a twelve year-old was more than enough to make the master's stomach turn.

It seemed he wasn't the only one with such thought. "He tried courting you that young?" one of the middle-aged women asked in shock.

"Well, not exactly. He just told me not to worry about courting later since he'd already decided to marry me," Belle explained, wrinkling her nose. The irritation practically dripped from her tone. "And despite everything I said to the contrary, he seemed to take the fact that I never did as my acceptance."

"You've never had a beau?" another woman cried. "But you're so lovely!"

Belle flushed brightly, looking into her lap. The master couldn't tell if she appreciated the compliment or not—but something about her reaction made him guess it was the latter. He tucked this piece of information away for later. "I guess no one was ever interested," Belle shrugged quietly. "And I doubt Gaston would have let them court me if they had been."

Several servants offered sounds of exasperation and sympathy, making Belle smile again. Meanwhile, the Beast had to bite back a growl, realizing how far back Gaston's attempts to control her had really gone. While he wasn't necessarily upset Belle hadn't courted all the men in town, it certainly wasn't fair that one powerful man had prevented her from forming acquaintances with others her age. That must have been terribly isolating.

The Beast's nostrils flared as he glanced down at his claws. He didn't often desire to use them for harm, but one possibility was beginning to sound very tempting.

"Men can be _such_ fools," one of the older women chided, stirring him from his thoughts. The room filled with more giggles, and the master had a sudden, intense desire to be _far_ away. Slipping silently back up the steps, he pulled open to door to see a little teacup sitting in the threshold.

"Hello, Master!" Chip said happily. And loudly. "Watcha doin' down here?"

The Beast grimaced, feeling his fur stand on end as the giggles grew in volume below them. _Chip!_ he thought in irritation, though he couldn't reasonably blame the kid. He _had_ been the one eavesdropping, after all. Instead, the master sighed deeply, picking the cup up and taking the slow walk of shame down into the kitchens.

"Master, you didn't have to hide, you know," one of the plates teased him. "We would have let you join in the fun."

His cheeks burned in embarrassment, and the Beast was once again grateful no one could see them. "I don't know…" he muttered, letting Chip down on the tabletop. "I didn't want to interrupt the man-bashing party, after all," he said, raising a thick brow.

"Oh, we didn't mean you, my lord!" a little feather duster said earnestly. _"_ Now _Lumiere,_ on the other hand…"

Their resulting laughter soon melted into idle chit-chat, and the Beast finally looked back towards Belle. She was distracted however, holding one of the plates carefully in one hand while the other held a small, purple-tipped paintbrush.

"What are you doing?" he asked curiously.

"Oh Master, Belle's the most wonderful artist!" the plate in her hand responded eagerly before Belle could even reply. "Haven't you seen her sketchbook?"

"I'm—I'm not that good," Belle said, cheeks flushing again.

The Beast looked around more carefully. A half-dozen plates already appeared to be decorated—flowers, leaves, and detailed patterns of all kinds gracing their porcelain surfaces. The plate in Belle's hand had several pretty violet tulips dotting her surface. A couple others were just coming from the warm oven, the prints now permanently etched into their surfaces.

"Someone said I could borrow some of the paints from the workshop," Belle explained quickly as he sat beside her, the plate rolling out of her hands and across the table. "I hope…I hope that's all right."

"Oh—it's fine, of course," he said quickly. "I'm surprised they weren't dried out by now."

Belle nodded, looking at the plates lining up for their turn in the oven. "I just…I thought it might help," she whispered, shrugging a bit. "It must be hard to be one of several dozen matching plates."

_"I don't matter. I'm a salad plate, my lord."_

Charlotte's words echoed in the Beast's thoughts as he watched the servants along the table, felt the newfound joy that permeated the air. He looked back at Belle, fighting the sudden urge to hug her. "It does help," he said quietly, settling instead with moving an inch closer.

Belle smiled a little, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear as she so often did. The Beast suddenly imagined what it might feel like to have human hands that could do it for her. His heart was starting to race, and he shook his head roughly. "S-so, um…what's this about a sketchbook?"

"It's nothing," she replied quickly, though he noticed her hand move from her lap to the opposite side of the bench, hearing something shift against the wooden surface.

He leaned back, spying the book on her other side. "Can I see it?" he asked with interest.

Belle grimaced a bit. "Mmm…I suppose. But don't expect much," she said nervously, picking up the sketchbook with careful hands and pursing her lips for a moment before handing it over.

It was fairly small, about the size of the Beast's paw, the cover a dirty brick red and peeling along the edges. He opened it carefully, surprised to see every square inch of the parchment covered with drawings. The first page was filled with all kinds of people, many having been redrawn over old sketches multiple times as the artist's skill improved.

"These are incredible," he said quietly, soaking in the human expressions staring back at him from the page. They were all so different, but so real. So unlike the ancient, unfeeling castle portraits that had been staring at him from the West Wing's walls for a decade.

"Thank you, my lord," Belle said shyly, though she sounded pleased. "They're just some of the other villagers."

The Beast looked slowly through the next few pages, all filled with people, letting Belle tell him about each one. "Is that you?" he asked a few pages in, pointing to one who had shown up several times already and seemed to look quite like the girl beside him.

"That's my mother," she smiled. "I suppose I took more after her than Papa."

 _That's for sure,_ the Beast thought in some amusement, recalling the time he'd met Maurice. Not that he was one to judge for looks, but he'd been pretty certain after meeting Belle that she hadn't inherited her features from her father. "You know…" He swallowed, hesitating for a moment but ultimately deciding to go on. "My own mother was actually an art historian."

Belle's eyes grew bright, though her response was careful. "She was?"

"A self-taught one, but yes," he nodded. "As far as I was told, there weren't half the number of paintings in the castle before she married my father," he said, smiling a bit. "He used to joke that she would empty the treasury if she kept it up."

Belle smiled widely in response as she leaned against the table, and the Beast felt himself going on. "I was actually told that she was so unimpressed with the art on her first visit that my father had a hard time persuading her to stay longer," he explained, feeling himself grin. "I guess he finally convinced her when he showed her the library's collection of art history texts."

Belle laughed a little. "That's sweet," she said honestly.

The master felt a strange but pleasant lightness in his chest. He hadn't talked about his parents so openly since…well, since they'd been alive, in fact. He wasn't expecting it to feel so natural.

"My Papa won over my mother with books as well, you could say," Belle said after a few moments of silence.

"Really?"

"Mm," she smiled, tucking that same lock of hair behind her hair as she sat back. "They grew up in a town further south, but like here she wasn't allowed to go to school," Belle explained quietly, before brightening. "But her and Papa would meet under a great oak tree near the woods and he would share all his lessons with her every day after his classes. He's convinced he would have dropped out of school much sooner to work on his inventions had he not been trying to win her over," Belle chuckled.

"His inventions?" the Beast asked curiously.

"Oh, well, it was an old hobby of his. He hasn't had time for them in years, and wound up selling most of them for parts when Mama grew sick," she explained, looking a little sad. She recovered quickly, however. "We still have one left, though—it lets you see who's on the other side of a door without opening it."

The master raised his brows in interest. "That…could actually be very useful," he observed.

"Oh, it is," she said earnestly. "I can't tell you how many times it's saved me from having to talk to Gaston." She paused. "Or from hearing _him_ talk, to be more accurate."

The Beast was a torn between a reignited irritation with this man and an amusement as he imagined Belle devilishly avoiding Gaston's house calls. He looked back down at the sketchbook in his hands. "What about them?" he went on, turning the page to see several new faces.

"Oh, nobody in particular," Belle shrugged. "Though I guess I sort of imagined them from my stories."

"That one looks like Robinson Crusoe," the master grinned, pointing to a long-bearded man garbed in ragged clothes and holding a musket.

Belle gasped. "It is! I can't believe you could tell!" she cried, her smile growing tenfold.

They went through the rest of the pages together, all filled with a variety of flowers, plants, homes, and landscapes. Up to the very last page, each bit of blank space had been filled with some large or small sketch.

"You're out of pages," he observed, closing the book carefully and handing it back to her.

"It's all right. There's still a _little_ room left," she said, pressing the book tenderly against her chest.

"You should get a new one," he prodded. "Your father left you some coin, right?"

"What?" she asked, looking up at him with wide eyes. "Oh, no, I—I couldn't spend your money on something like that," she said earnestly. "Besides, I promised Papa to be very careful with it all."

The master frowned, realizing he was speaking to someone who had experienced true poverty. Perhaps the idea of spending money on something like this felt frivolous to her, when it seemed like such a basic item to him.

The thought, however, gave him an idea.

* * *

"I want to do something for her."

"Well, there's the usual things," Cogsworth told his master straightly. "Flowers, chocolates, promises you don't intend to keep—"

"What?" the Beast asked, wrinkling his nose. "No, no. I already know what I want to—"

"Flowers, at this time of year?" Lumiere interrupted, raising a golden brow at his wooden associate.

"And where in the world would _we_ get chocolate?" Mrs. Potts chuckled in amusement. "I'm afraid the master ate through the last of that years ago."

"Oh, _everyone's_ a critic," Cogsworth huffed.

 _"Look,"_ the Beast grumbled in exacerbation. "I already have an idea. I just need some help." The three objects finally acknowledged him, looking up expectantly. He cleared his throat. "Do you know anyone in the castle with experience in bookbinding?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew, this one was a toughie. I hope the middle section wasn't too dark for anyone. I looked up the typical trigger warnings for fanfic, and it seemed okay to leave things as they were without a warning. In general, I do like to slip in social commentary into my writing now and again; here, I've attempted to acknowledge and normalize mental illness, which would be an obvious result for our characters after what they went through. There's also a ton of research out there on the psychological and health benefits of human touch for all ages. Particularly infants, who can actually die if they're not held enough, even when well-nourished. All in all, I think what the servants went through is ignored a lot, and I really wanted to show some of that here. And if you identified both the Beast and Maurice as experiencing varying levels of PTSD, you're absolutely correct.


	8. Chapter 7

Belle, true to her promise, was careful to leave well before evening fell each night. However, the Beast soon noticed that not only was Philippe growing tired from the daily journey, but Belle seemed to be more and more fatigued despite the weight she'd managed to gain back.

"Belle," he said one evening as she hoisted the saddle atop Philippe's back in preparation to leave. He'd caught her dozing off twice that day while they worked in the library, though she'd adamantly denied it then.

"Yes?" she replied tiredly, securing the saddle on backwards. Philippe huffed in discomfort, though she didn't seem to notice.

The Beast moved to the horse's other side, grabbing the saddle gently to stop her. "Belle…stay tonight."

"Oh!" she said in surprise, looking up. "No, I…I couldn't. There's plenty of time for me to return before dark. I won't impose on you again."

"Everyone else stays here. It's no imposition."

"But I…my house," she fumbled. "I need to, um, check on my house. Yes."

"Haven't you neighbors to keep an eye out for one night?"

"I—"

"Philippe is exhausted," he pointed out. "…You're exhausted. You've been working too hard."

"I'm here to repay you, my lord," she insisted, tugging the thin cloak around her shoulders. "Besides, you've been working just as hard as I have."

"I'm not riding for several hours a day, though."

She sighed. "I suppose Philippe _does_ deserve a break," she admitted, rubbing the animal's neck tenderly as it nuzzled her shoulder.

The Beast had already decided to let her borrow one of the other horses for her next journey home, but he was determined she rest at least one night before revealing so. "Well, that settles it then," he said cheerfully, undoing the backwards saddle and hanging it back on the hook. "Come on, let's go tell Mrs. Potts you're staying," he smiled, moving to open the barn door.

Belle raised a brow as she followed, looking mildly suspicious but somewhat relieved as she eyed the warm castle before them. "You know," she said slyly, accepting the arm he offered. "I'm only agreeing to this because that bed is so nice."

* * *

Belle knew she was stubborn, so her discovery that the master could be equally so should have been somewhat irksome. Yet the moment she sunk into those soft sheets again, she decided she _might_ be able to tolerate it.

When Belle awoke the next morning, something felt different. Blinking, she sat up slowly, the morning sun pushing its way through golden curtains and filling the room with a soft glow. "Slept in," she mumbled, rubbing her eyes and squinting at the little clock over the hearth. Her eyes grew wide as she read the time.

"Ten o'clock, dear," the large, cream wardrobe said from the corner, as though reading her mind.

"I—I'm so late," Belle realized, throwing a soft shawl over her shoulders. "Why didn't you wake me?" she asked with some irritation as she raced towards the washroom.

The once lady-in-waiting only laughed, her voice deep and rich. "The master said not to disturb you this morning," she winked. "Besides, it's only just stopped snowing."

Belle's eyes grew bright as she turned on her heel, rushing towards the window and pulling aside the curtains. She squinted against the light, the sun brilliant against a landscape of white. "The first snow," she breathed, smiling to herself. From her room in the upper floors, she could see the tops of the trees for several miles, the snow glittering on their branches and bits of powder swirling in the soft morning breeze.

A loud bark rang out from below, and she looked down to see Max leaping through the thick snow, running circles around the Beast. To her surprise, the master fell on all fours and ran off playfully, sprinting faster than she'd ever seen him move. He stopped near the gardens, letting the dog pounce him and nip at one of his ears. Belle cringed, but he didn't seem to mind as the two of them continued wrestling in the snow drifts.

She wasn't sure how long she'd been watching when the Beast looked back up at the castle. He gave a short wave when he saw her. _Good morning,_ he mouthed.

Belle flushed, tugging the shawl tighter around her as she waved shyly back. He then turned his paw palm-up and motioned towards them.

 _Come and play,_ it seemed to suggest.

Before she could respond, Max had jumped on his head and buried him back in the snow. Laughing, Belle moved away and shut the curtains again, feeling a strange warmth in her chest.

"Livre for your thoughts," the wardrobe asked, a hint of amusement in her voice.

"Oh!" Belle gasped, caught in a daze. "I was just…thinking how I'll need to dress quite warm today," she fibbed.

"Well, not to worry!" the woman went on gaily. "Lucky for you, warmth and fashion are not mutually exclusive in _these_ drawers."

* * *

"Ah, Belle…don't laugh."

Belle covered her mouth, but she couldn't help it—before her stood the once-man and the dog, both covered head to toe in little lumps of snow that clung to every inch their fur. "I'm sorry, my lord," she said, trying to compose herself. "R-really," she attempted, chuckling again as she looked back up at them.

"Hmm," the Beast huffed, looking down at his furry companion. "Shall we clean up for the lady, Max?" he asked slyly. The animal wagged his tail happily in response.

"Oh no, d-don't you dare!" Belle cried in horror, but it was far too late as the two of them shook the snow off, sending the powder flying out in all directions.

From the window, Mrs. Potts smiled warmly as her master gave out a hearty laugh. The sound was deep and hoarse, but its cadence was reminiscent of the happy child she'd once known.

"They're just… _playing,"_ Cogsworth said incredulously from beside her, watching as Belle sent the Beast running with a fierce onslaught of snowballs.

"Well, of course," the grandmother chuckled. "They're friends, after all."

"And _adults,"_ he replied, raising a brow.

"Oh Cogsworth, why do you have to be such a stiff?" Lumiere groaned, hoping over beside them.

"Considering I'm made of wood, Lumiere, I can't quite help it."

The candle rolled his eyes. _"The stuff must be pretty thick,"_ he said under his breath.

"Anyway, I suppose this is all fine and good," the clock went on, ignoring his companion as he crossed two little brass arms. "But unfortunately, _friendship_ is not the key to ending this curse."

Lumiere looked a bit concerned at that, but Mrs. Potts only smiled. "Love _is_ the key though, is it not?"

The two men nodded in unison.

"Well then, we have nothing to fear," she assured them. "For true love always begins with friendship."

* * *

"I don't know, Belle," the master said skeptically. "I'm fairly certain mine will turn out more like a snow _demon."_

Belle laughed at him, the snow ice cold against her back. "Just wait and see! Angels come in all shapes and sizes," she insisted.

A happy rumble came from the Beast's chest, and Belle dared a glance to the adjacent snow bank. He swept his arms through the powder twice more before stopping and returning the glance. She caught his bright eyes, rivaling the blue overhead. _Truly human eyes,_ she thought, not for the first time. _Kind eyes._ She looked quickly at the sky.

"You've seemed quite cheerful lately, my lord," she observed.

"Am I usually so glum?"

"Not… _glum,"_ she insisted. "Stoic, perhaps."

He didn't seem offended, smiling again as he followed her gaze across the clouds. "Well, things have gotten better ever since—" He stopped abruptly, clearing his throat. "Ever since…it snowed."

Belle laughed, peeking back over at him. "What?"

"I, uh…like the snow," he shrugged, not meeting her eyes.

Belle chuckled again, but not unkindly. "So do I," she said sincerely. "The forest looked so beautiful from my room this morning." She flushed suddenly, recalling how she hadn't _only_ been watching the trees from her window.

"You thought so?" the master asked, unaware of her discomfort.

"Oh, um, yes," she answered, recovering. "It's quite pretty when it snows in town too, but not nearly so…majestic."

He sat up abruptly, eyes growing even brighter than before. "You'll love the valley, then," he said earnestly, tail brushing happily against the ground behind him.

"From Abel's Peak?" she asked, recalling that time weeks earlier when he'd taken her to see the changing leaves. When he'd grown so upset over her mention of the enchantress.

As if reading her thoughts, a sudden look of regret passed over his face, but he quickly nodded. "Yes, the very same. Would you…" He paused again, trailing one claw through the snow as he stared at his paws. "Would you like to go back?" he asked quietly, chancing a glance back at her.

Belle's heart skipped a beat, and she had a strange feeling that this time, things would go differently. "Yes," she smiled. "I'd love to."

His ears perked up at that and he stood, hesitating a brief moment before reaching over to help her up. As she stood, the Beast looked back where they had just been and chuckled.

"I was right," he said with amusement. "Mine looks like something from a horror story."

"It does not!" Belle laughed, though she had to admit she'd never seen a snow angel look _quite_ so hairy before.

"Yours is perfect," he went on, staring at Belle's print in the snow for a moment before looking back down at her. Hands still in his, Belle felt his thumbs brush her mittened fingers before he pulled quickly away. "W-we should, um, eat something…before we go," he said nervously, burying his paws in his pockets and moving back towards the palace. Belle pressed her hands against her cheeks, a new warmth burning through the fabric as she mirrored his deep footprints in the snow.

After a warm lunch, they set off for the outlook. Belle didn't feel the sense of déjà vu she had expected, for the snow-covered land made the forest feel completely new. She'd opted to going by foot this time, for the walk wasn't long and the horses were in need of shoe replacements before braving the icy paths. Belle only slipped twice herself on their way, which she counted quite fortunate. She never had been as graceful as her counterparts.

"Careful," the master breathed, a small smile playing on his lips as he caught her arms the second time in giant, gentle paws. She felt the heat burning in her cheeks again he righted her on the snowy path.

 _What is wrong with me today?_ Belle thought, wrinkling her nose as they neared the peak.

She forgot her embarrassment as they reached the familiar overhang. "Oh," Belle gasped, looking over the valley, now coated in a blanket of white. It sparkled under the winter sun, the lake frozen over and dusted in snow.

"Better than autumn?" the Beast asked quietly.

"I don't know if I could choose," she replied honestly, moving back as he brushed a patch of snow away from beneath their feet with a few sweeps of his paw. He quickly unclipped his cloak, laying it carefully on the damp ground before helping her sit. She'd long since noticed how his mannerisms were reserved, refined—clearly that of a man raised in a great house, and in stark contrast to the coarse habits of the villagers she knew. Particularly Gaston's.

He was about to sit in the snow a pace away when Belle patted the cloak. "There's plenty of room," she said, moving over to make space. He swallowed, but only nodded as he settled down beside her, paws folded carefully in his lap. "Can't have you too far away," she teased. "I'd rather not slip over _this_ ledge."

The Beast gave a small chuckle, though Belle didn't miss his wary look as he eyed the edge of the cliff. Or the subtle shift in his position to rest a paw on the ground behind her. "Maybe this was a bad idea," he muttered, the deep rumble in his chest more noticeable from their proximity. He paused, smirking. "…I didn't realize you were so clumsy."

"Excuse me?"

He snickered, full rows of teeth showing in a genuine grin. As though realizing he'd let them show, he quickly pursed his lips, though the amusement didn't leave his eyes.

Belle pouted in jest. "You've become quite the tease, my lord."

"Well, you know what they say, Belle."

"Hmm?"

She felt him lean a bit closer, warm breath brushing her ear. "Don't dish it out if you can't take it," he whispered.

Belle grinned; no doubt he was referring to the dozens of nicknames she'd given him. "You know," she said cheekily. "I'd stop if you told me your name."

He was quiet for a long moment, and Belle was about to take it back when he spoke. "I'm disappointed," he said lightly, though his voice sounded hoarser than normal. "Surely you haven't run out of absurd names for me _yet."_

"Oh, not to fear, Master Buffle. I've still got plenty," Belle quipped, though she couldn't help but feel a bit let down. She leaned forward onto her knees, staring out at the winter wonderland which had suddenly lost some of its splendor. She felt him move away and mirror her movements, the change in mood palpable in the air like thick, choking smoke. Belle chewed her lip anxiously. _I've done it again,_ she realized, wanting to curse herself. _Why couldn't I just mind my own—_

"I told you my parents were quite loyal to the Church, correct?" the Beast asked suddenly.

Belle raised a brow at his odd question, but only nodded. He rarely spoke of his past, and she wasn't about to stop him now.

"S-so…so as such, they…" He took a deep breath. "They named me after the father of humanity."

Belle didn't speak for a long moment as realization washed over her. "…Adam," she breathed at last. "Your name is Adam."

He nodded slowly. "Ironic, isn't it?" he asked, a forced smile crossing over his face. "To be named for Earth's first man, while in this form?"

"That's…that's not fair," Belle frowned. "Surely that isn't why you gave it up?"

He sighed. "Not entirely. But it gave me a good excuse, I suppose."

"An excuse?" she asked, her frown deepening.

He shrugged a bit. "I changed too much. And not just… _this,"_ he explained, hand sweeping over his torso, a look of sadness crossing his face as he looked down at the treetops below.

"But…change is normal," Belle said, in an effort to reassure him. "Good, even."

He shook his head. "I don't think I changed for the better," he confessed. "I'm just…I'm not where I thought I would be. Who I thought I would be." He looked out over the landscape, casting his eyes towards distant, unseen villages. "Doing…what I _should_ be doing."

Belle suddenly realized what he must mean. His interest in the library's political history, the questions he would ask her about the condition of the village, his fury over the school system's discrimination—perhaps he felt he'd abandoned his people. He was a prince, after all, as easy as it was to forget at times.

Belle pursed her lips as she looked back at him. He looked terribly crestfallen, and she longed to say something that would help. He'd been so happy that morning, and she feared she'd sent him back to the darkness that so often seemed to consume him. Sucking in a breath, she sat up straight and placed two hands on her hips. "Well, I think you've done amazing given your circumstances."

He looked back at her quickly, blinking in surprise. "You—you do?"

"Of course. From what I understand, you've been managing an entire palace on your own for years, you treat your servants like family, and you're always willing help wherever you're needed," she said earnestly, thinking back to that first week when she'd caught the master of the castle out working in the fields.

"I guess," he shrugged, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. It fell as quickly as it came, however. "I didn't really have much of a choice, though, not after…" He trailed off, looking away nervously.

Belle frowned. She knew he was talking about the night of the curse—she'd spoken with enough servants to have a vague idea of what occurred. But none of them seemed to know much beyond the mysterious disappearance of their king that night.

"Please…" she breathed after a minute of silence. "…Won't you tell me what happened?"

His breathing quickened for a brief moment, but to Belle's relief, he nodded. "Yes," he said quietly, looking back at her. "I will."

* * *

_"P-Papa…"_

_"It's all right, Adam. Everything will be all right," his father assured him, even as he let his sword clatter to the ground. The witch released her hold on the child immediately, sliding across the room and casting a hand towards the king. Gold, glowing chains flew from her fingertips, encasing the man's wrists in an instant. The woman smirked, grasping the enchanted bounds with both hands and tugging the king to his knees._

_"Papa!" Adam cried, rushing forward with renewed courage. He was quickly stopped as she threw an arm back at him, an invisible force hard as bricks holding him back. He gasped in shock, before gritting his teeth and banging against the barrier with all his might. "Let him go!" he shouted. "Leave us alone!"_

_The witch only stared at him, wrinkling her nose in irritation before turning back at the man before her. The king bowed his head in submission as she hovered over him. She reached down, seizing his neck in long fingers._

_"You could have had_ _**me.** _ _I could have given you_ _**anything,"** _ _she snarled, forcing him to look at her. "I could have given you a son, even more beautiful than him!" she cried, throwing a finger back at Adam. The child flinched, confused and frightened, closing his eyes and wishing his Papa would make her leave soon._

_"It isn't too late," the witch continued, voice suddenly soft and deep. Adam glanced up to see the roses in her hair opening in full bloom as she pressed herself closer to the king. The boy felt dizzy again as their intoxicating scent filled the small space._

_"I've known true love, Enchantress," the king said darkly, unaffected by the sweet toxin. "Such spells have no effect on me anymore."_

_For a moment, she barred her teeth, cheeks sinking in and skin growing taught. It vanished in an instant. "Still not over that woman, then, dear Alexandre?" she mocked as she moved away, the roses closing up around her._

_"I could grieve a thousand years and not be over her," he said firmly._

_"Well, that's too bad," the enchantress went on. "Perhaps if I'd known that, I wouldn't have disposed of her."_

_The room fell into dead, breathless silence. "Jacqueline was lost to the forest," the king rasped._

_"Yes, quite a shame," she sighed, not a hint of sympathy in her voice. "To imagine someone so young being devoured by wolves."_

_At that, the small prince began to cry._

_"Stop this!" his father barked in fury. "Wretched witch! If you're only here to mock our pain, then be gone!"_

_The witch narrowed her eyes. She glanced at the boy, before turning back to the man before her. A strange smile crept over her face. "Fine. If you will not accept me, then I suppose it's time for me to move on."_

_Adam gasped._ Is she really leaving? _he thought with hope, brushing his eyes against his sleeve as he looked up._

_He soon realized his naivety as the enchantress tugged the king towards the hearth. One powerful hand around the bewitched chains, she cast the other towards the large mirror above the mantle. Adam watched with wide eyes as it floated to the floor and rested against the wall. "Get in," she ordered, shoving the king forward._

_Alexandre stared at the glass. It held no reflection, only a dark, swirling mist. He grit his teeth, looking back at Adam. "You promise to let him live?" he demanded._

_The enchantress smiled in victory. "I swear it, dear king."_

_The man nodded solemnly, eyes not leaving his child. "Don't lose faith, my son."_

_"Papa?" Adam choked out, panic growing in his chest. "W-what's going on?"_

_"Remember how much your mother and I love you," his father continued as the woman threw the end of the chain into the mirror. An invisible force from its depths immediately tugged at the bounds. Forced forwards, Alexandre craned his neck back to look at his son. His eyes were wide, desperate as he spoke. "And Adam...never, ever forget who you a—" His words were cut short, body disappearing into the dark glass._

_"PAPA!" the prince screamed, slamming against the barrier once again with all his might. "Where is he?!" he shouted at the witch. "Bring him—BRING HIM BACK!"_

_In response, the woman waved a lazy hand in the air, and Adam fell forward onto his knees as the barrier gave way. Gasping, he bolted towards the mirror. By the time he reached it, however, the mist was replaced by a child's terrified face as his own reflection stared back at him._

_Adam bit his lip, reaching out a shaky hand…but felt only hard glass against his fingertips. "No," he choked out, feeling every inch of the surface he could reach in desperation before looking behind it for the darkness that had taken his father. But it was, once again, only a mirror._

_Sinking to his knees in defeat, the child pressed a weak hand against his reflection. Behind him, a large form filled the frame as the enchantress hovered over him._

_"Please…please bring him back…" he whispered, staring blankly into the glass as his eyes grew moist. "H-he's all I have…"_

_"Oh, I'm sorry, little one," she said, crouching beside him and running sharp nails through his hair. "I'm afraid I cannot undo what's been done."_

_Adam ground his teeth, hands forming quaking fists at his side. In the prince's short life, he'd known both great joy and deep sorrow. However, what he felt now was completely new._

_What he felt now was anger._

_"Y-you…y-you…" he managed through tears of rage, looking up at her reflection. The fury in his heart pushed out any fear as blue eyes glared into red. "You're…a_ _**monster."** _

_Almost imperceptibly, the witch pulled away. A strange look crossed her face, but she quickly recovered. "A monster, hmm?" she said with intrigue, standing once again. "Well…now_ _**that's** _ _an interesting idea."_

_Adam barely registered the hand gliding over his form as a wave of fatigue overcame him. In fact, by the time he came to, he was lying on a rug beside the dying fire, staring at the oak-paneled ceiling of his father's office._

_The memory washed over him in an instant._ Please be a nightmare, _he thought desperately, rolling onto his knees and looking up. To his dismay, his reflection gazed back at him from the grand mirror…still resting on the floor beside him._

She didn't even let me say goodbye. I'll never see him again, _he realized in agony, trembling fingers resting against the hard glass._ I didn't get to say goodbye…

_Strength failing him, the prince fell back upon the thick fur rug, curling in on himself. As the fire died away, darkness filled the room, and for the first time, the child let it consume him._

* * *

"Belle…Belle, don't cry. It's all right."

"No it isn't," she sniffed, letting two quiet tears soak into her soft mittens as she pressed them against her cheeks. He'd only told her the dry events of the enchantress' visit, but Belle could read between the lines. And he couldn't hide all the pain in his face as he spoke, as much as he had clearly tried.

"Well…maybe it's not all right," he admitted. "But I'm fine."

Belle bit her lip, hesitating for a moment before resting a comforting hand on his arm. "Why didn't you tell anyone before?" she asked carefully.

"I felt…" He sighed, staring absently were her hand rested. "I thought it was my fault. If it weren't for me, my father could have defeated her. I'm sure of it—he'd done so once, before I was born. But because of me, he gave himself up. Whatever terrible things happened to him…it was my doing."

"But you were only a child," Belle said earnestly. "No one could have expected you to—"

"I know," he said quickly. "I understand that now. But after so long without speaking of it…I suppose it was just easier to keep to myself," he shrugged.

Belle felt a sharp pang in her chest, thinking of everything he'd been through because of one spiteful, capricious witch. "If—if I ever get my hands on that woman," she muttered, clenching her hands tightly. "Why, I'll—"

To Belle's shock, she heard a small snort from beside her.

 _"What?"_ she asked indignantly.

"You have a brilliant mind, Belle, you do," he stated, the hurt in his eyes replaced by a warm amusement. "But very, _very_ unintimidating fists."

"This—this isn't a joke, Master Adam!" she cried, even as a small smile tugged at her lips.

He sobered immediately. _"No,"_ he rasped. "No, don't call me that."

"I-I'm sorry, Master," Belle backpedaled, paling in embarrassment. "I thought…since you told me your—"

"No, Belle. I mean…no more _Master,"_ he said quietly, before looking over at her. "Please."

Her eyes grew wide. "B-but you're a...and I'm only—"

"My friend?" He seemed nervous to say it, but he took a deep breath and continued. "Belle. I…I haven't felt like myself in almost ten years. And I haven't been happy in longer than that," he confessed, staring back into his lap. "But things have been different, ever since…"

"It snowed?" she teased him as he trailed off, recalling what he'd said earlier.

He grinned a little sheepishly. "No," he admitted, glancing back over at her. He swallowed nervously. "E-ever since…you came."

His eyes watched her after he said it, piercing blue and full of sincerity. Belle looked away, hiding a blush. "Well, all right then," she breathed, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear before glancing back at him. "Just Adam it is."

His eyes lit up, sharp teeth showing again for a brief moment before he caught himself.

Belle chuckled. "You're allowed to smile, you know."

Adam grimaced a bit. "I don't know…Cogsworth nearly stopped ticking for good the other day when I did."

"Well, Cogsworth has the backbone of a jellyfish," Belle huffed.

She heard a deep rumble echo from his chest before the laugh escaped him. He shifted back beside her, in friendly proximity as their chuckles quieted and they looked back out at the view.

An hour or so passed as they spoke of simple nothings and spotted the occasional falcon on the horizon. The subject of his newly revealed past wasn't mentioned again, but Belle sensed a shift in their interactions simply from the fact that she _did_ know about it.

 _This what it feels like to have a friend,_ Belle realized as they spoke, tucking her legs against her chest and enjoying the warmth that radiated from her companion. She'd had the occasional playmate growing up, of course, but they came and went before any real bond could be formed. In truth, there'd never been anyone she could really talk to.

Eventually, the two of them fell into a comfortable silence as the sun skirted the tops of the hills. "I should have brought my sketchbook," Belle breathed absently, wishing she could draw the beautiful horizon before them. Though in truth, there really wasn't any room for it.

"Oh, I nearly forgot!" Adam said suddenly, digging a paw into the pocket of his jacket. Belle furrowed her brows in confusion until he produced a medium-sized parcel and handed it over to her.

"What's this?" she asked in shock.

"Um…a birthday present?"

"But my birthday isn't until _May."_

"A half-birthday present then," he amended.

Belle pursed her lips, unsure what to make of it. The only gifts she'd ever received were humble items from her parents or the self-interested offerings of Gaston wishing to buy her hand. Still, she untied the parcel in her lap with haste in her curiosity to see its contents.

The paper fell open to reveal a beautiful, leather-bound notebook. Its cover was a soft yellow, with pretty patterns woven along the edges and the sturdy binding. Unbreathing, she turned back the cover to reveal hundreds of blank pages. Over twice the thickness and well beyond the quality of her current sketchbook, it just ached to be drawn upon.

"How…" she breathed.

"Don't be mad, but…I may have defiled a library book to get the cover," he admitted. "It was a terrible analysis of twelfth century feudal land rights…so no loss, really."

Belle laughed lightly, still in shock at the beautiful gift. A little bag fell onto the page, and she finally looked up to see Adam pulling his paw away. "You best hurry before the sun sets," he smiled, looking away somewhat shyly.

She uncinched the pouch to find a dozen new sticks of charcoal, chest swelling with excitement. _"Thank you,"_ she breathed. "Thank you so much. I don't…I don't deserve this."

"Yes you do," he said quietly, glancing back. "And you have a talent—you should be able to use it."

Belle smiled eagerly as she turned to the first page, greedily using the entire sheet to quickly draw the fading horizon before them. She sensed Adam watching as she worked, and it gave her a sudden idea.

"What are you drawing now?" he asked, pointing to the bottom of the page where she was finishing her work just as the light started to fade around them. Belle continued drawing in silence, and he watched for another minute before speaking again. "Is that…us?"

"Yes," she said happily, holding the finished product out at arm's length against the horizon. "Well, how is it? A fair depiction?"

He stared at it for a long moment before smiling warmly. "Yes. My favorite one yet."

* * *

"Be good while I'm gone, okay Philippe?"

The horse huffed in protest, eyeing the white mare in the next stall with suspicion.

"I'm only taking Olive so you can get some more rest. Don't worry, the mast—" She stopped, smiling a bit in chagrin. "I mean, Adam and the others will take good care of you." The name would take some getting used to, that much was certain—but Belle couldn't be happier to use it. She thought it a kind name, strong yet unassuming. It suited him.

Beside her, Philippe still looked a bit dejected. Belle rubbed his long neck. "Come, now. You'll see me in a couple days, you big baby," she teased him, smiling as the animal gave in and nuzzled against her neck. She heard a deep, quiet laugh from the next stall, peaking over to see Adam tightening the straps on Olive's saddle. His movements were slow and careful, given the lack of dexterity his paws provided him, but he didn't struggle. The mare nudged him in the shoulder as he finished, and he smiled warmly as he ran a paw along her beautiful cream coat.

"Is she your favorite?" Belle asked.

He looked up quickly. "Oh—well, yes. She was given to me as a boy. The others belonged to my father."

"She's beautiful," Belle observed, moving into the adjacent stall and running a hand along the mare's soft face. "Was it…" She trailed off, still a little anxious to pry into his past.

"Was it what?" he asked.

"I was just wondering, was it hard for her to adjust, after you…changed?"

"Oh," he shrugged, unoffended by the question. "Well, no. My transformation wasn't exactly…instantaneous."

Belle raised her brows in surprise. "It wasn't?"

"Mmm," he hummed, looking suddenly uncomfortable as his tail twitched against the ground behind him. "You know the um… _process,_ where boys..." He cleared his throat. "You know, where they…become men?"

Belle grinned in amusement. "Puberty?" she prodded.

He seemed to pale a bit beneath his fur, if such a thing were even possible. "Ah, yes. That. Well…let's just say…I didn't change into a man."

Belle's eyes widened in shock. "Sacrebleu…that must have been _terrifying."_

He laughed a little awkwardly. "Yes. Terrifying is a good word choice."

 _And I thought Mother Nature's visit was bad,_ Belle thought, realizing her growing up was a breeze compared to his. "Did it…did it hurt?" she asked carefully.

"Um…well, yes. These, mainly," Adam said, pointing to his fangs, then up to the long horns that emerged from his temples. "And these. The rest was just bones rearranging, I guess." Belle cringed at the thought, but he only shrugged. "I don't really have anything to compare it to. Does growing up normally hurt?" he asked, seeming genuinely curious.

"A little. Growing pains, here and there," Belle explained. "I grew about three inches one summer alone," she went on. "Swear I felt happening, though it wasn't too bad."

"You grew that much?" he asked suddenly, looking amused. "But you're so…"

She frowned. "I'm so what?"

He grinned a bit. "So _short."_

"What?" she cried. "I am not! I'm the tallest girl in our village," she said, placing her hands defiantly on her hips. " _And_ taller than plenty of the men, too."

"Really?" he asked in genuine surprise.

"Well—you're just _huge,_ so it's not a fair comparison," she huffed, trying to nurse her injured pride.

Adam only laughed again. "I guess so. My apologies, mademoiselle," he teased, before moving away. Belle tried to remain irritated, but she could only smile and shake her head. _I shouldn't encourage him,_ she thought, realizing the teasing was probably just going to get worse.

Walking Olive towards the barn door, she stopped to retrieve her cloak. Just before she did, however, something fell over her shoulders. Reaching up, she felt soft furs attached to a warm, heavy fabric.

"What's this?" she asked in surprise, turning back as Adam pulled his paws away.

He just shrugged in innocence.

"I…I can't take this," she breathed, feeling the fine stitching of the deep blue cloak. It must have cost…well, she'd long since stopped trying to guess the worth of things from this place.

"Well, it's not as though _I'm_ ever going to wear it," he joked.

"Adam…I'm serious. You're making it very difficult to pay you back, you know," she said sternly, thinking about the beautiful sketchbook in her satchel. "In fact, I'm quite certain I'll be in greater debt to you in the end than I was to begin with."

A strange look crossed his face before he shook his head. "I don't think so," he said quietly, before smiling again. "Besides, it's just a trade this time. I'm keeping the other one."

Belle sighed in defeat, knowing she'd definitely gotten the better end of this 'trade'—considering the cloak she'd worn there was worn thin and covered in stitched-up holes. She pulled the warm fabric closer around her, not ungrateful that her journey back would be that much more comfortable. "Thank you, Adam," she said softly, finally giving in to a small smile.

His expression softened in response. "You're welcome, Belle."

* * *

The master stood at the palace gates, watching as he usually did while Belle took off on the forest path. Olive's coat disappeared against the snow, making his friend appear to float midair. He smiled absently at the illusion.

Today, he felt like a new person.

Today, despite the fur still coating his flesh, he woke up as Adam, instead of the Beast.

 _I never thought I'd feel like this again,_ he realized, heart racing against his chest even as he stood motionless in the snow. _I never thought I'd feel like_ _ **myself**_ _again._

* * *

_"C-Cogsworth?" twelve year-old Adam whispered harshly, moving nervously through the halls as he searched in vain. "Lumiere! Where are—"_

_"Master Adam? Are you well, dear?" a kind voice called out. Adam turned on his foot to see Mrs. Potts atop Anne's serving tray, steam billowing from her spout. "I was just on my way to see if you needed a spot of tea—"_

_"Th-that's all right, Mrs. Potts," the child said anxiously, waving his hands in front of him as he felt his cheeks flush. "I, um, just realized…I forgot something in my room," he said quickly, dashing back towards the West Wing and leaving a puzzled teapot sitting behind him._

_Shutting his door behind him a few minutes later, Adam leaned against it and pursed his lips, suddenly missing his father even more than normal. Blinking back tears, he went back to the mirror and unlaced the first few buttons of his blouse, looking again at the hair that had seemed to sprout across his chest overnight._

_He jumped as a knock came at the door. "Master?" Lumiere called out. "May we come in?"_

_Adam quickly pulled his shirt together and ran to the door, pulling it open a fraction and looking down to see the candlestick and his tocking companion as they waddled into the room._

_"Are you all right, young lord?" Cogsworth asked nervously. "Mrs. Potts said you looked ill."_

_"Shall we send for the doctor, Master?" Lumiere prodded._

_"No! No," Adam said, shaking his head quickly, motioning them silently to follow him to the mirror. "Look," he said nervously, tugging the shirt open once more to show them the change. "A-and…it's not just there," he admitted quietly, glancing away in embarrassment._

_Lumiere gasped excitedly. "The boy is becoming a man!" he exclaimed._

_"I am?" Adam asked, looking back at himself with hope._

_"King Alexandre would be proud of you, Master," Cogsworth said, looking a little sentimental as the three of them took in his reflection. "You look like him more every day, you know."_

_Adam rubbed the last bit of anxious moisture from his eyes before looking at himself with new pride, wondering if what Cogsworth said was really true._

_His elation was short lived, however._

_"Are you sure this is normal?" the prince asked anxiously a few weeks later, the hair now covering him head to toe, crawling out the edges of his collar and starting to grow between his fingers. He'd long since given up shaving the dark beard that now spread up his cheekbones and over his brow. Lumiere, Cogsworth, and Docteur Mathius only looked at each other in bewilderment._

_The worst part, however, was when the fangs grew in. Adam didn't sleep at all when they did, the pain keeping him awake throughout the night as his gums bled and his skull seemed to reform around itself as two small horns poked through the skin. One of these miserable nights, after he'd dismissed the servants trying to help, he sat on the floor in tears, eyes pressed into his palms as he tried to understand what was happening._

_Of course, it was at this moment that she appeared._

_Adam looked up as a vicious laugh rang out from the quiet. "Oh, my, you really are hideous."_

_Instead of fear this time, however, the boy pushed himself onto firm feet, glaring at the witch as she stood on his balcony._ _**"You,"** _ _he growled, voice already deeper and rougher from the changes._

_"Oh, don't be like that," she sighed, sweeping into the room. She looked the same as she had two years prior—same forest green dress, same red lips, same venomous roses woven in near-white braids around her face. "I thought you'd like an explanation, after all."_

_Adam ground his teeth by old habit, flinching as one long fang dug into his upper lip. "What did you do to me?" he rasped, staring down at the short claws on his fur-covered hands. He felt a new, strange desire to use them on the intruder._

_She moved towards him on graceful feet, backing him against the footboard of his bed. "Why, I've made you my little pet, dearest."_

_Adam felt suddenly sick as the powerful woman towered over him, her blood-red eyes roaming over his new form._

_"Ah good, that spell seems to be coming along nicely. Never have done this one before, you see," she said, tugging softly at the fur on his neck before feeling the tip of one horn._

_"S-stop it," he gasped, before eyeing the enchanted roses in her hair as they graced his cheek. He froze, holding his breath yet refusing to look away._

_"Yes, yes—using the body's natural growth cycle to push it along seems to be working quite well," she went on, before frowning deeply, expression growing dark as she caught his piercing glare. "Though you still have her cursed eyes. How_ _**irksome** _ _," she huffed, finally pulling away._

_Adam sucked in a breath, regaining a bit of his courage. "Change us back," he demanded, clenching his fists to hold the trembling at bay. "You can't leave us like this!"_

_She only laughed. "You act as though you still have authority, foolish child. But you're not a prince anymore."_

_The beast-child swallowed, looking at the floor. "I know," he said roughly, thinking of the kingdom taken from him, the crown he'd never wear…the people in Northern France he'd never be able to protect. "But I'm still the master of this castle. I can still take care of my friends."_

_"I suppose that's true. For a decade or two, anyway," she shrugged._

_The young master frowned. "What do you mean?"_

_"Like yours, their transformations aren't yet complete," she explained, running a finger along the dresser's top, picking up a small, inanimate candlestick before setting it back in place. "Eventually they'll all turn to real objects and they'll—what do you call it?" she asked, snapping her fingers. "Oh! They'll die."_

**_"…No,"_ ** _Adam gasped, staring at the floor in shock._

_"Don't worry, you'll still live a nice long life," she said. "Though you may find some animal-like tendencies tend to increase over the years."_

_The boy swallowed roughly, a terrible vision of what he'd become only overridden by the horror of watching everyone else fade away. He bit his lip again, ignoring the pain this time as he slowly looked back up at the enchantress. "Please," he begged, hating himself for his weakness but completely stripped of all power and pride. "There…there has to be something I can do to change them back. Change…me back."_

_"Well, there_ _**is** _ _a way…but it's fairly hopeless, I'm afraid."_

_"Tell me!" he cried. "I'll—I'll do anything."_

_For some reason, a look of victory swept over the witch's face. "All right, my little Beast. I'll tell you."_

_Minutes later, the young master sat on the edge of his bed, the stem of a glowing rose cutting into the fingers of one hand while he gripped a delicate mirror in the other. If the task itself wasn't already daunting enough to a twelve year-old boy, looking over his ugly form was enough to wash away the brief hope he'd felt._

_For who could ever learn to love a beast?_

"Maybe.. _.she_ could," Adam said under his breath as the memory faded away, watching Belle as she approached the tree line beyond the castle walls. She paused, turning around in her saddle to wave once more. He found himself waving back as she took off on a gallop into the woods.

 _Yes,_ he thought warmly, paw hovering in the air a moment longer than needed before falling back to his side. _Maybe she really could._

* * *

Belle hummed to herself as Olive climbed up the steep trailhead connecting to the main road. She was a beautiful horse, and fast—likely ten times Philippe's worth. Belle's heart warmed a bit as she realized how much Adam must have trusted her to let her borrow the animal. Most others in her shoes would likely take the horse and never return.

As she crested the top of the path, Olive stopped abruptly, huffing anxiously and backing up several paces. "Olive, what's—" Belle gasped, realizing they weren't alone.

An old woman stood in their path, a twisted walking stick in one wrinkled hand and white, wiry hair peeking out beneath her hood. "Oh, my," she said, her lips twisting into an unnerving grin. "Best not let anyone catch you in that part of the woods, dear."


	9. Chapter 8

"Best not let anyone catch you in that part of the woods, dear."

Belle bit her lip hard, staring at the stranger on the road. She'd been caught.

Honestly, it was surprising she'd gone so long _without_ anyone noticing her near-daily journey into the forbidden woods. She sucked in a nervous breath, scrambling for an excuse. "I-I was just…I mean, I took a wrong turn, and—"

The figure only laughed. "No need to be so nervous, child," she replied. "I'm no snitch."

Belle nodded with some uncertainty, glancing back at the trail behind her. Olive's hoof prints shown in the fresh snow, now obvious evidence of her presence. _That could be a problem in the future,_ she realized anxiously.

Max's sharp barks of alarm cut through her thoughts, ringing out in the cold air as he caught up to them on the main road. The old woman flinched, backing away as the dog moved between them and growled protectively.

"Max!" Belle scolded him, sliding out of the saddle and grabbing the animal by the collar before he got too close to the woman. The stranger grit her teeth, one hand trembling against her walking stick as she backed away.

"I'm so sorry," Belle said in embarrassment. "I don't know what's gotten into him. He's not usually like that unless…" She trailed off as she took a closer look at the stranger, a sudden recognition overcoming her. "Oh! You're that storyteller—the one who comes to our village," she realized.

The woman relaxed a bit now that Belle had a hold on the dog. "At your service, mademoiselle," she said with weak nod.

Belle suddenly recalled the last time she'd seen the woman. She flushed. "I…I'm sorry for asking so many questions, last time you were in town," she said sheepishly, scratching the back of her head.

"No need to apologize, child. You were right, after all—had a few kinks to work out in that tale," the woman winked.

Belle thought of the story she'd told that night, so strangely similar to the reality of Adam's situation. Though, of course, the prince in that tale was nothing like _her_ friend. "Do you come up with your own stories?" Belle asked curiously.

The woman chuckled. "I suppose you could say that."

Belle raised a brow at her strange response. _Must be a little senile,_ she thought, chewing her lip for a long moment before going on. "Do you think you could…I'm sorry, but could you possibly tell me how that story ends?" she finally asked.

Almost imperceptibly, the corner of the woman's mouth tugged up. "Are you sure?" she rasped. "…It isn't pleasant."

A strong gust of wind blew across the open road, sending a chill up Belle's spine. She furrowed her brows, but only nodded. The woman held out an empty palm, and Belle reached into her pocket and set a small coin into the old hand. A strange, almost triumphant look crossed the storyteller's wrinkled features. "Now, where should I begin?" she asked.

"I believe the enchantress had just cast the curse?" Belle prodded.

"Ah, yes," she grinned. She cleared her throat, letting her voice fall into a natural rhythm as she began. "Ashamed of his monstrous form, the Beast concealed himself inside his castle. As the years passed, he fell into despair and lost all hope of ever returning to the life he'd once known."

Belle felt a sad tug at her chest. This part of the tale sounded true, at least.

"However," the woman went on, lifting a shaky finger. "Years after the prince's transformation, a beautiful damsel happened upon his castle. While at first frightened by his monstrous form, the Beast soon gained her trust. In fact, she quickly found herself growing quite fond of him," she said with an unnerving smile.

Belle felt her heart racing in her chest, for more reasons than one.

"However, the Beast held a dark secret," the woman went on, eyes narrowing. "A secret the young woman would only learn of…once it was too late."

_Belle, there's something I want to tell you. But I don't know if I can._

"Each night, the Beast would ask her one question: _Fair maiden, will you give me your heart?_ And each night, she would refuse. For while she cared for him, she could never give her heart to a monster. Or so she thought.

"In fact, each evening the young woman hesitated longer in her answer. For after all his kind gestures, and all his beautiful gifts…she found it more and more difficult to refuse him."

Belle flushed, feeling the edge of the soft cloak she wore. The notebook felt suddenly heavy in her satchel.

"One night, she could refuse his request no longer. _Yes, dear Beast. You may have my heart,_ the maiden promised. Yet little did she know, they would be the last words she would ever utter. Little did she know…his transformation was not yet complete."

_My transformation wasn't exactly…instantaneous._

"The truth was, the prince was becoming more of a beast each day. And a beast…" The woman paused, a wicked grin crossing her features. "A beast is always hungry."

Belle was starting to feel a little sick, suddenly wishing she hadn't asked for the story at all.

"That night, the damsel slept soundly. As she dreamt of her dear Beast, the very creature crept silently into her chambers. He cowered over her sleeping form, watching the rise and fall of her chest with hungry eyes.

"Yes, the Beast truly sought her heart. But not in the way she thought.

"Consumed by the creature inside, he thrust his claws into her bosom and took the promised heart." Belle gasped, a hand pressed against her mouth in shock, but the storyteller only continued. "Crouching in the darkness, and the shadows…" She paused, licking her lips. "He feasted."

"S-stop!" Belle stammered in distress, squeezing her eyes shut. "…Stop." The woman complied, and Belle was quiet for a long moment, Max whining quietly against her side. "I can't believe it," she breathed at last.

"I'm afraid that's how the tale goes," the woman shrugged innocently.

Belle shook her head. "I can't believe… You really told _that_ story to our village children?" she asked incredulously.

The woman blanched, clearly not expecting that response. "Oh! Well, I…I usually water it down for the little ones..."

"I would hope so," Belle said frankly, before forcing a smile over her face. "Well, thank you for telling me, anyway," she said politely, if insincerely, her desire to leave now tenfold her original desire to hear the tale. She started back towards Olive, mounting quickly before glancing behind her once more. Despite the woman's unnerving demeanor, she _was_ quite old, and all alone on the road and without an animal companion. Belle sighed. "Um…will you be all right? I'd…I'd be happy to give you a ride back to town." _As long as you don't tell me any more stories._

"Oh, aren't you kind. But I'll be fine—heading east, after all," the woman replied, leaning heavily on her walking stick as she moved over to the horse's side. She reached up suddenly and held Belle's hand in her own wrinkled fingers. This close, Belle could make out her eyes beneath the hood—a vibrant red, like no eyes she had ever seen before. While strange, they gave the old woman a peculiar beauty. "You be careful now, dear," she told Belle. "Wouldn't want you falling prey to _this_ forest's beasts."

Belle's eyes grew wide at the comment, but she only nodded. "M-merci, Madame. You take care as well." The woman held her hand for another long moment, her grip much tighter than her thin fingers would suggest. Just as Belle was starting to grow uncomfortable, the woman let go. Belle gave a civil nod before quickly guiding the horse back down the main road towards home.

"Belle," Sire Gilles spoke once they were out of earshot. "That tale…it isn't—"

"Can you believe that woman?" she said furiously before he could finish. "Spreading that terrible story around the kingdom? It was all I could do not to tell her off for such lies," she huffed.

Sire Gilles seemed to sigh in relief, chuckling a bit. "I'm sure she doesn't mean any harm, dear girl. Remember, to most in these parts, enchantments such as ours are utter nonsense. I'm sure she merely wove the tale in order to gather a large crowd."

 _"Hmph,"_ Belle huffed. "A _boorish_ crowd, perhaps."

The swordsman was quiet for a long moment, sensing her unease. "Are you quite sure you're all right?" he asked at last. "I understand if you sensed any… _similarities,_ in that story."

Belle pursed her lips. In truth, she _was_ upset, though she only shook her head. "I'm fine, Sire Gilles. After all…I'd like to think I can put more trust in my friend than in the tale of a stranger."

"And an odd stranger at that," he said bluntly.

Belle laughed a bit. "She was. But they do say the same about me back in town." She fell quiet after that, guiding Olive quickly along the road, still unable to push away the terrible images the tale had created in her mind.

_You're in no danger._

Just the memory of Adam's words in the garden put her mind at ease. _I trust him,_ she realized with conviction. The old woman's story had nothing to do with him, nothing to do with any of them. It couldn't. And she certainly wasn't going to let some foolish tale scare her away from the first real friend she'd ever had.

 _Still,_ she thought, frowning as she tugged the cloak tighter around her shoulders. _I wish I'd never asked._

* * *

The old woman frowned deeply as the girl took off along the trail. Something told her that story may not have had quite the effect she was hoping for. While the tale had clearly upset her…she sensed the young woman was more offended than frightened.

 _No matter,_ she determined, letting a wry smile pass over her lips. She'd taken what she needed. Now it was time to be rid of the girl before she could interfere any further. She hadn't wanted to waste her energy on this but...if she had too, she was certainly going to enjoy it.

 _Perhaps I'll turn her into that pretty cloak she wears,_ she thought wickedly. _Or the saddle upon which she rides._ She grinned, tugging back one old, ragged sleeve and sliding out a wrinkled hand.

The spell had no more than left her fingertips when a force flung the witch's feet over her head. She landed in a painful heap in a ditch along the road, feeling her magic depleting from the failed curse. Groaning, the witch pushed herself up furiously, glaring at the girl and her horse as they disappeared over the hill.

_"Remember, young one: Once you cast a spell, in cannot be interfered with."_

She swore roughly. If she couldn't harm the girl, that could only mean one thing—one of them was already in love. And considering the beauty of the young woman, the witch had no doubt it was him, which would make her original plan all the more difficult. She ground her teeth, tugging at the roots of her hair. He wasn't supposed to actually _find_ someone!

At least…not on his own.

 _Stupid man,_ she fumed. So quick to offer his heart, so quick to ruin everything she'd planned. Just like his wretched father.

Seething, the witch hoisted herself onto old, shaky feet. At least she'd gotten one thing from the interaction. And that could still prove useful, if only she could stop the young woman from coming back.

"Foolish girl," she rasped darkly, letting the smile slide back over her lips. "You're no rival for _me."_

* * *

"Maurice…"

"Yes, my darling?"

"Maurice…I can't stop worrying about Belle."

Soleil's husband smiled down at her. "Always worried about everyone but yourself." He said it warmly, but she didn't miss the anxious look in his eye as he set the blood-coated cloth aside. The taste of a wet cough still lingered in the woman's mouth, the terrible ache in her chest never going away. Around them, the dark room was barely visible through her blurring vision. She was tired…always tired.

"Don't worry, dear, I'm sure she's perfectly safe," Maurice was saying. She felt a warmth against her hand. "Now, please…the doctor said you must try to rest when you can."

Soleil frowned, but shut her eyes obediently. It was her own fault Maurice didn't know to worry more. She thought of their daughter, alone in that town for months without them. Alone, where that _man_ remained.

The tightness in her chest grew worse. They should never have left Belle alone.

_"Each branch, each twig, each blade of grass,_

_"Seems clad miraculously with glass:_

_"Above the ice-bound streamlet bends_

_"Each frozen fern with crystal ends."_

_"Well done!" Soleil exclaimed, clapping as Belle finished the recitation and gave a mock curtsy._

_"My English is improving, isn't it, Maman?" the teenager asked in the foreign tongue, grinning cheekily._

_"Oh yes. I couldn't be prouder of you."_

_Belle offered a genuine smile at that. "Does that mean I can go continue_ Guinevere and Lancelot _now_?"

_"For a little while, my love. Papa will be needing our help soon."_

_"Thank you," Belle said eagerly, rushing over and kissing her on the forehead. "You know, I think you're a much better teacher than that mean old professor anyway."_

_Soleil smiled, though she doubted it was true. She'd done her best with Belle's education, but she really only knew what Maurice had taught her and from the books she could get her hands on in the little town. She sighed, wondering how much of her daughter's potential was untapped because of circumstance and her own ineptitude._

_Her thoughts were interrupted by a rough knock at the door. Frowning, Soleil stood and moved over quietly, pulling Maurice's contraption from the wall and looking to see who was calling. She grit her teeth at the view on the other side._

_"Gaston?" Belle whispered from behind her. Soleil turned around, nodding and motioning the girl to take refuge in the loft. Belle grimaced, looking anxious even as she obeyed._

_The knock came again. "Belle! I know you're home!"_

_Soleil sucked in a furious, albeit nervous, breath. If only Maurice were here. The twenty year-old man outside filled the porch with his giant frame, already the largest—and strongest—man in town. In all truth…he frightened her._

_"G-Gaston, Belle is not home," she stammered, hating the way her voice waivered. "And I know my husband has already asked you to stop calling."_

_"Ah…Madame Dupont," he said in disappointment. "Well, I guess I'll try again later—"_

_"Young man, did you hear me?" she said sharply, feeling a new burst of courage flood over her. "My daughter is fourteen years old. She has no interest in your attentions. You are not welcome to call on her, and if you do not stop we_ _**will** _ _reach out to the authorities."_

 _The man was quiet for a long moment, and Soleil dared to hope he'd gone when his rough voice spoke again. "The_ _**authorities?"** _ _he guffawed. "My father_ _**owns** _ _this town's authorities. He owns all of you," he rasped darkly. His bark of a laugh rang out again. "You can't threaten me."_

_What he said wasn't too far from the truth. The village officials were known to accept a well-placed bribe, and most of the residents were in some kind of debt to Monsieur LeGume. Even their own fields belonged to the wealthy merchant._

_Soleil pressed her palms against the door, hands shaking as she looked up towards the loft. Belle's eyes stared down from the darkness, appearing just as frightened as she felt._

_"But speaking of the authorities," the deep voice went on. She could almost hear the smirk in his voice. "Would be a shame should Maurice do anything…_ _ **odd,"**_ _he said darkly. "Wasn't he the one who threatened our schoolteacher some years ago? Seems the poor fellow is becoming quite the menace to the village. Indeed, one more violent act…" He stopped, tut-tutting. "Well, I can't imagine_ Maison des Lunes _would say no to one more patient."_

_Soleil's heart flew into her throat. The authorities wouldn't help them; Maurice couldn't even try to defend Belle without risking the asylum now—not after his row with the schoolteacher. Or his fit on the hunting trip last summer._

_As Gaston's heavy footfalls faded away, Soleil turned back, leaning against the door as her strength left her._

_"Maman…I'm so sorry," Belle whispered, suddenly at her side. "This is my fault. I…I must have done something that made him think I wanted—"_

_"You did nothing wrong," Soleil said quickly, pulling her daughter against her and running a hand over her hair. Belle was nearly her height already, yet she curled into her shoulder like she had as a child, holding her tightly._

_"...Don't tell Papa," the girl breathed after a moment._

_Soleil pulled back, frowning deeply._

_"He'll do something foolish…I know it," Belle went on. "We can't lose him, Maman. And how would we ever survive on our own? No, no I…" She paused, sucking in a nervous breath. "I would marry Gaston before letting that happen."_

_"Don't say that," her mother said, trying not to cry as she felt entirely helpless, unable to protect her only child._

_"It'll be all right. I'm sure he'll tire of me soon enough," Belle said, squeezing her mother's hand. "Besides…Gaston's pretty brainless. I think I can handle him," she said with a smirk._

_"Oh, Belle…" Soleil started, before feeling a sharp pain in her chest. She grimaced, grabbing at her breast with one hand while reaching for a chair with the other._

_"Maman…what's wrong?" Belle asked anxiously, quickly helping her sit._

_"Nothing…just a little ache. Probably my nerves acting up," she said, throat growing dry._

_"I'll go start a pot of tea," Belle said, racing to the kitchen._

_Soleil coughed lightly, closing her eyes as a sudden wave of fatigue overcame her. In truth, it wasn't the first time she'd felt such pain, but it was the first time she'd been unable to keep it hidden. She shook her head, knowing she couldn't dwell on such things, not with a daughter to worry about. Belle might be confident she could handle Gaston, but Soleil wasn't so sure the young man was as dense as he seemed sometimes._

_For if he was anything like the merchant who fathered him…well, then he knew how to get what he wanted._

* * *

An old woman with bright red eyes climbed through the forest's heavy growth, tucking herself in the shadows. To her right sat the main road of the Northern Pass, worn down by travelers; to her left, a forbidden trail leading to an enchanted castle. Taking a deep breath, she cast her hand forth, the scenery around her changing shape. It was nothing more than an image, a mirage-like spell to ensure that anyone familiar with the trail would fail to recognize it for what it was.

She sighed, feeling her magic drain further but grinning despite her exhaustion. Perhaps she couldn't hurt the girl herself, but nothing was stopping her from changing the image of the landscape.

The witch waited impatiently for over an hour before the young woman appeared. She held her breath, watching as the girl approached the trail's entry point. She slowed the horse down for a moment, but ultimately continued along the main road. A few minutes later, the girl rode back, frowning as she moved back and forth in search of the path's entrance.

The enchantress smirked. _Try to find your way back now._

A moment later, however, that irritating dog from before started barking, running straight off the road and down along the hidden path. Raising her brows, the young woman rode after him, passing straight through the mirage and finally orienting herself on the hidden trail.

"Thank goodness for that nose, Max!" she exclaimed. "I can't believe how different it looks since the snow."

The witch in the trees ground her teeth in fury, pulling all the stores she had left and casting a curse at the wretched mutt. The dog turned towards her, cocking his head, but appearing just as alive and alert as before.

The witch tucked herself further into the shadows, grinding her teeth in irritation. In her anger, she'd entirely forgotten her spells didn't work on animals. _Well, there goes giving the horse a broken ankle,_ she thought, wrinkling her nose.

Looking back up, she watched in perplexity as the girl dismounted the horse, untying an old rake from the saddle and heading back to the start of the trail. Several long minutes passed as she used the tool to erase the prints in the snow.

 _She's smart,_ the witch realized in annoyance, watching with narrow eyes as the girl finished her task and remounted the mare. Out of options and nearly depleted on her stores, the enchantress now felt nearly as weak and useless as an ordinary human.

 _I shouldn't have made the jump,_ she thought with regret. _I was too impatient…and now it's left me weak._

She sighed, watching as they rode out of sight. It seemed this task would have to wait until after a good feast.

* * *

As the days grew ever colder, Belle found herself filling the pages of her new sketchbook faster than she ever realized was possible. How could she not, with so many new things to try her hand at? Several sheets were already dedicated to drawing the castle, inside and out, and a dozen more to its occupants. The latter seemed thrilled at the prospect of a personal sketch, and Belle spent many mornings curled beside a warm fire in the kitchen or the library as small crowd of servants gathered awaiting their turn.

She still took the horses out each day, and often spared several minutes as she did drawing some new scenic landscape she hadn't witnessed before. It seemed the lack of travelers through these woods for the last decade had only served to preserve its natural beauty. Adam didn't seem to mind however she choose to spend her time—and often accompanied her in whatever task she set herself at.

"Adam, come look at this," Belle said eagerly during one of her morning rides. She crouched before an old tree stump, a young fir having taking root in its base and springing forth into the canopy above. When he didn't respond, she glanced back and noticed him standing stone-stiff on the old trail, eyes glued to the ground. "Adam?" she asked, standing and cocking her head at him.

"I…I should stay here with Olive," he said nervously. His ears were pressed against his head as he twisted the reigns uncomfortably in his paws.

Belle frowned. It was but a few paces away—surely the horse would be fine for a couple minutes. Adam often expressed an interest in the forest's unique vegetation, a passion he said had once been his father's. Now, however, he wouldn't even look at the interesting growth before her. "…All right," Belle agreed in confusion, standing and moving back as they made their way further along the forest path.

Belle soon found herself straying from the trail again, however, observing some beautiful icicles that had formed in a web of branches nearby. After a moment, however, she noticed something that made her jump.

 _Claw marks,_ she realized, eyes growing wide at the deep, jagged dents in the trunks beside her. She sucked in a nervous breath, wondering if a bear had wandered into these woods.

"It's all right, Belle," Adam said quietly from behind her, as though reading her mind. "Those are mine."

"Oh," she breathed in some relief, though she couldn't shake the feeling that something wasn't right. She looked back up at the marks in the trees, an old woman's words echoing in her thoughts.

_The prince was becoming more of a beast each day._

_Ugh!_ she thought in annoyance. _I should have never asked for the end of that awful tale._ Pushing the foolish thought away, she looked back at Adam, noticing he, again, hadn't followed where she'd gone. "Adam...is something wrong?" she asked.

"No, I…I'm fine," he muttered, looking at his feet.

"But why are these here?" she asked, pointing back to the marks in the trees around them.

"They're just markers," he shrugged, still not making eye contact.

"Markers for what?"

He frowned deeply, before finally looking up at her with sad eyes. "For my prison," he rasped.

Belle felt a pang of horror in her gut. "W-what…what do you mean?" she breathed.

He sighed, taking a few silent steps forwards. Just a pace away from her, he stopped, reaching out and feeling the air as though _something_ stood in his way. "This is as far as I go," he said quietly, letting his arms fall back to his side.

"But…there's nothing…there's nothing here," she said anxiously, reaching out to the empty air he'd just touched.

"No, there isn't. Not for anyone but myself," he explained blankly.

Belle felt her chest growing tight, her hands forming into fists. "She trapped you here," she whispered in terrible realization. "You…you can't leave."

 _"What's a beast, without his cage?"_ he explained sourly, and Belle could tell they weren't his words. He sighed again. "The edge of the palace property is as far as I go, I'm afraid."

"No, no there has to be a way around it," Belle said firmly, reaching for his arm and pulling him forward. "Maybe I can pull you through—"

She stopped at the resistance, his paw pressed against an invisible _something_ in the air, the fur flattened by seemingly nothing. She loosened her grip quickly, still holding his palm as she looked up at him. "But…but there has to be some way to… Have you tried breaking it?"

He nodded. "The tools all go straight through—and my claws only wear down when I try using them."

"What about…what about climbing over it? There has to be a top, right?"

"I climbed the highest tree bordering the wall—it was still there."

"Well, what about digging? Or—"

"Belle," he said, stopping her as he looked down where she held his paw. His fingers curled against his palm. "I've tried _everything."_

Belle bit her lip; of course he had. He'd been trapped here for a decade—who wouldn't have done anything they could to escape? She nodded slowly, moving back to his side of the barrier, unsure what to say.

"Come," he said quietly. "I'll show you."

* * *

_The young prince finally managed to fasten the last button on his vest, pulling on the stiff jacket with some difficulty before taking several long minutes to secure the laces on his riding boots._

_He wasn't used to dressing himself, after all._

_He stood as he finished, staring at his small, still-human figure in the mirror, his eyes bloodshot but expression determined._ I'm going to fix this, _he thought fiercely, pushing the memories of a lost father away as he focused on his task ahead._

_He turned to the sword lying on the table, picking it up carefully. "You're sure this is all right, Sire Gilles?" he asked nervously._

_"Of course," a voice echoed from the object. "I am forever at your service, my prince."_

_Nodding, the boy secured the sabre to his belt, taking a deep breath before leaving the room and heading into the hall. The air was filled with hundreds of voices, a mixture of nervous chatter and quiet sobs. The cry of an infant broke through the air as he descended the stairs, a myriad of household objects lying along the floor. Adam moved quickly to the front doors, before turning back to face them. "I'm going for help," he said, swallowing roughly as the air grew quiet. "My uncle will know what to do," he explained, fidgeting nervously with the cloak around his shoulders._

_He could sense a wave of dread fall over the servants, a few whispers of doubt hanging in the air._

_"I_ _**will** _ _come back for you," Adam said firmly, standing tall. "I'm going to fix this. I promise."_

_Minutes later, he rode quickly out the gates on Olive, Sire Gilles clanking against his hip and cloak whipping against his back. The air was cool from early autumn, the forest floor a collage of reds, oranges and yellows. His uncle lived several days' journey away, but Adam wasn't worried about that—he'd been reading maps for the last couple years, and had plenty of money to make it there._

It's going to be okay, _he told himself, trying to keep his focus as he urged Olive on faster._ Uncle will know what to—

_His thoughts were cut off by a sudden, terrible pain. Crying out, Adam felt himself flying from the saddle, falling to the ground in a heap before everything went black._

_"…My lord?"_

_The prince blinked, staring up into golden branches._

_"Prince Adam, are you all right?"_

_The boy groaned, rolling over onto his knees and blinking the stars away. His head was throbbing, bits of red dripping to the ground around his fingertips. He lifted a hand to his face, feeling the stream of blood flowing from his nostrils._

_"Master Adam?!"_

_"I'm all wight," he said through his broken nose, looking back at the path for the cause of his fall._

_"What happened, my lord?"_

_"I don…know," he admitted, looking at the trees above. "Must've hit a bwanch."_

_"Let's return to the castle," the swordsman continued. "We're barely at the borders of the palace grounds—we can get that nose healed up before your journey."_

_Adam sighed. "Okay," he agreed in embarrassment, standing slowly and catching sight of the horse further down the path. "Olive!" he called out, moving to gather the reins. "Olive, come on, let's—" He stopped suddenly in his tracks, heart in his throat._

_Something was blocking his way. Something he couldn't see._

_He reached out, feeling the invisible barrier with nervous fingers. What felt like a brick wall spread out in all directions—as low to the ground and as high as he could reach, at least. It felt similar to the force the witch had placed between him and his father not a fortnight earlier._

_No, not just similar—it felt_ _**exactly** _ _like that._

_"No," Adam breathed, dragging his fingers along the wall as he ran off the path, the barrier keeping him from moving any further out of the woods. "No!"_

_He eventually coaxed Olive back to him and began riding along the barrier's edge, holding an arm out and trying desperately to feel for any break in the wall._

_Hours passed with no success. "Prince Adam," Sire Gilles said quietly as dusk began to fall. "Please…you're exhausted. We can continue this tomor—"_

_"No," the boy huffed, giving the horse another kick as they descended a steep cliff side. "I have to…find a way out…I promised…to get help—" He gasped suddenly as Olive nearly tripped over a root in the growing darkness. He tugged the reigns tight to steady the horse on a narrow edge of the mountainside._

_"My lord…" Sire Gilles started nervously. "Please…"_

I…I can't leave, _Adam thought in anguish, sliding slowly to the ground and reaching again for the invisible barrier._

_"I'm—I'm sure someone will come for us soon," the sword said hopefully._

She trapped me here, _Adam thought, feeling his throat growing tight._ She took Papa…and she trapped me here.

_"Please, my prince…let's go back to the—"_

_Sire Gilles was cut off by the child's angry cry, small fists slamming against the invisible stone. The swordsman grew quiet, in shock as the prince sank to his knees in the mud, fighting against the unseen wall before him, screaming at the empty forest beyond. Not that Gilles could blame him, of course. Only, the child had only ever displayed eager curiosity when he was small, or a quiet sadness since the loss of his mother._

_Anger, though…anger was new._

* * *

Belle watched as Adam brushed aside the thick snow and the dead vegetation beneath it. They were in one of the more sparsely wooded sections of the forest, shadows just starting to cross over the open area from the few surrounding trees. All of them had the same, deep claw marks in their trunks she'd seen earlier.

Belle heard something fall into the snow, glancing back to see Adam pulling several long beams of wood off a dark opening in the forest floor. Her eyes grew wide with interest, watching as he stood and brushed himself off before finally looking back at her. "I'm going to make sure it's still stable," he said vaguely, before lifting himself down into the opening and disappearing from sight.

When he didn't return for several minutes, Belle started to grow concerned. "Adam," she whispered, moving over and peeking into the hole. "Adam, are you—"

She stopped as two blue eyes appeared in the darkness. "I think we'll need some light," his voice echoed. She nodded, heart pounding with excitement now as she ran to grab the lantern attached to Olive's saddle, taking a couple minutes to locate the spark rocks in their pack and light the wick.

"It's quite deep," Adam stated, face now illuminated by the lantern's glow as she handed it down to him. His large body filled the entirety of the space, while a rope ladder hung beside him, secured to some roots in the exposed earth. "You'll have to climb down, but I'll be beneath you so you need not fear falling," he explained, securing the lantern to his belt.

Perhaps a few months ago, Belle would have felt uneasy going into a mystery hole in the ground with a man, not to mention one with thick claws and fangs. _Papa would not approve,_ she thought with some amusement, though she herself felt no discomfort. Besides, she was far too curious to turn back now. "I'm not afraid," she told Adam with confidence, stepping into the hole and gripping the old rope in both hands.

Her sureness, however, was soon challenged by her inherent ineptness when it came to any surface with unstable footing. The ladder was only secured from the top, the rest dangling below, the rope swaying awkwardly beneath her and slowing her progress. Belle felt her stomach lurch with each movement. Despite the lamp's light from below, it was still difficult to see the rungs, and she gasped several times as she missed her step.

"S-sorry," she panted, breathing heavily as she tried to reorient herself after her latest slip.

In response, the light came suddenly closer and she felt something warm brush her back. "It's all right…it's my fault," Adam said, a smirk evident in his voice. "I forgot you were clumsy."

Belle was about to give an indignant retort when she felt his paw touch her back, turning her gently to face him.

"Hold on to me," he breathed, suddenly serious. Belle stared at him, heart speeding up for a moment before she nodded. She reached out a still-trembling hand, gripping his collar tightly. Her other, however, seemed unwilling to leave the safety of the ladder.

"You can let go," he whispered, voice even deeper than usual. Belle felt a large arm reach carefully beneath her in the small space. "I've got you."

Sucking in a deep breath, she closed her eyes and obeyed. To her relief, she felt immediately secure as he pulled her against him. Sitting in the crook of his arm, Adam's large paw held her carefully but firmly beneath the knees, warm even through her thick winter socks and skirts. Belle realized she could have let go of his shoulders completely and felt equally safe.

But, for some reason, her arms pulled her a little closer.

Adam was still, breathing shallowly for a long moment. Belle thought she felt the slightest brush of his thumb against her leg before he swallowed roughly, continuing carefully down into the depths of the earth.

They remained uncharacteristically silent as he climbed. He ignored the ladder's aid, instead simply climbing down the walls using the claws of his three free limbs. Without the need to focus on her task, Belle noticed one side of the tunnel was almost completely flat, in contrast with the rough, uneven edges of the others. Looking closer, it almost appeared as if a brick-like pattern had been carved into its surface.

"Is that…the wall?"

"Mmm," Adam hummed, his chest rumbling beneath her.

"I can't believe it's so deep," she breathed. "How far down are we?"

She felt a small jolt run through him, realizing they had hit the bottom. "Deeper than any of the walls I've read about," he stated blankly, letting her down to her feet. He unhooked the lamp from his belt and held it out into the open space. Here, a small room-like space had been carved away, the ceiling so low that Adam had to crouch on all fours to fit inside.

Belle looked around. The walls were covered with flat panels of wood and a few dirty crates sitting in a corner. One wall, however, remained uncovered. Like the side of the tunnel they came down, it was completely flat, that same brick-like pattern carved into its surface. She looked at the panels along the floor beside it, several deep brown stains in their surfaces.

 _Blood,_ she realized in horror, remembering what Adam had told her.

_"My claws just wear down when I try using them."_

She suddenly imagined a younger Adam, clawing desperately at the witch's barrier until his fingers bled. She imagined all the work it must have been to dig so far down—likely done over years—only to find the wall still blocking his escape. Belle felt her throat growing tight, looking again at the large, deep stains in the wood.

"This was the last thing I tried," Adam said from beside her. She glanced over, noticing he rested a paw against the barrier as if to make sure it was still there. He let his arm drop quickly, frowning but not seeming surprised as he crouched back on his hind legs. "I'm convinced it goes straight to the center of the earth."

Belle reached out herself, fingers sliding easily through the wall of earth. She pulled a handful of dirt back, staring at it for a moment before letting it fall to the ground.

"Strange how I would envy you for _that,"_ he said lightly, as if anxious to lighten the mood. He sucked in a breath and huffed a bit of fur from his eyes, looking back at the small space. "There's another reason we came here, though."

"Really?" she asked, following his gaze. There didn't seem to be much there to see.

"I plan to make use of this place. As a bunker, of sorts."

"A bunker?" Belle asked in surprise. "But…what for?"

He pursed his lips for a moment. "You've been coming to the palace all this time, and no one's ever stopped you?"

"Not really," Belle replied. "I mean, a couple people told me it was forbidden, but no one really seemed that concerned." She paused. "And I suppose there were some old signs saying to stay away, but I sort of…ignored them," she shrugged.

"You came even though it was…" He trailed off, grinning a bit. "Actually, I'm not surprised."

Belle didn't notice his amusement, instead plucking up the courage to ask something she'd wanted to for a while now. "Adam," she started. "Why…why did your uncle forbid anyone from coming here?"

His eyes grew immediately dark. "My…uncle?"

She flushed, realizing her slip. "I-I meant…King Victor," she admitted.

He was quiet for a long moment. "So you, um…you know what I was," he stated.

Belle nodded slowly. "I'm sorry. I sort of…weaseled it out of someone."

"…It was Sophie, wasn't it?"

Belle grimaced, though Adam didn't look upset. If anything, he seemed embarrassed. "I'm still…I'm still just…me," he said nervously, chewing the corner of his lip.

Belle's mouth fell open, realizing why he'd never said anything. She had to bite back a smile. "You were worried what _I_ would think? You're the one who's friends with a peasant," she laughed lightly.

He only frowned. "I don't care about that," he said adamantly. "Besides, the entire class system is simply a creation of prideful, avaricious men. It doesn't mean anything."

Belle stared at him. _What a peculiar prince,_ she thought in bewilderment, though she couldn't help but smile at his idealism. She wondered absently how he'd come to have such a mindset.

He cleared his throat. "So…Sophie told you about Victor, too?" he prodded.

"Oh, no," Belle said quickly. "I, um…sort of figured that out when I tried to look you up in a history book."

The corner of his mouth finally twitched up at that. "You…tried to look me up?"

She flushed a bit. "Yes," she admitted. "But there was nothing there. I had to learn it from the bookseller. The king…well, he's silenced everyone regarding you and your father's existence."

Belle heard a deep growl from Adam's chest. "Of course he did," he snarled. "The bast—" He stopped himself, eyes growing wide as he looked back at her. "S-sorry."

Belle didn't notice his slip, mind suddenly connecting the dots.

_"King Alexandre, the rightful ruler of this kingdom…he disappeared mysteriously a decade ago. Victor initially declared his brother's death the act of a demon…"_

As the bookseller's words rang in her mind, Belle finally connected the dots. She couldn't believe she hadn't realized this before. "Adam," she breathed. "King Victor…he knows about the curse, doesn't he?"

He frowned deeply, narrowing his eyes. "Yes. He does."

* * *

_Winter had settled early that first year of the curse, frost coating the insides of windows and flakes of snow creeping halfway into the rooms young Adam hadn't managed to seal tight. The castle held hundreds—probably thousands—of windows, and one ten year-old child could only manage so many on his own._

_"Well done, my lord. It'll take a bit of time, but it should build into a strong fire."_

_Adam shivered, pulling the cloak further around his shoulders as he stared into the small fire he'd managed start in the hearth. He'd spent nearly two hours trying to keep it lit, listening carefully to the directions of the bellows as he taught the child how it was done. Now burning, it barely provided any warmth, yet he reached out two small hands to take any of the life it offered for himself._

_The old fire iron trembled against the floor nearby, rolling back and forth but unable to move more than an inch either way. They would all learn to move more effectively with time, but a few weeks was barely long enough to come to grips emotionally with the transformation, let alone try to take control of a strange new form._

_Adam shivered again._

_"I'm so sorry, Prince Adam," the servant said quietly, voice laced with guilt. "I'm so sorry."_

_"We all are, my lord," the bellows added, his deep voice wheezing from the object near Adam's knee._

_The boy shook his head quickly. "Please, no more apologies. It's my fault I'm no good at this," he said, staring back at his sorry excuse for a fire._

_"You shouldn't have ever needed to be, master," the older bellows replied soberly. "It…it was our role in life, not yours."_

_Adam frowned. "Things have changed," he said simply. "I'm just going to have to change too." Of course, still in possession of his own human form, the prince couldn't have known how much change was still to come._

_He stared into the flames as they slowly grew, the warmth finally reaching his arms and legs, burning the tips of his fingertips. But he'd been cold for so many hours that he didn't want to pull away. Living in Northern France, even a prince wasn't immune to its winters, but there had always been a warm fire close at hand to cast away the cold before it sunk into his bones._

_Adam was so focused on the feeling returning to his toes that he didn't catch the sound of several dozen horse hooves echoing from the forest until the small troop was at the gates. Eyes growing wide, Adam stood and raced towards the entrance. Shouts of alarm and confusion rang out from the servants he passed._

_"Prince Adam!"_

_"Who is it?"_

_"We are saved!"_

_"Saved?! Fool, what do you think they'll do when they find us like this?"_

_Adam froze in place, hand resting against the large entryway doors._ What **will** people do to the servants if they find out? _he wondered, until now simply wishing for anyone to come for them, desperate for some distant relative or friend to come make everything better._

_"E-everyone," he said, turning back to those in shouting distance. "Everyone! Please, just—please stay hidden until I can talk to them."_

_He watched as those who could move found refuge in the shadows, the others resting still in place, before swallowing roughly and pulling open the heavy door._

_The wind ripped through his cloak, and Adam squinted against the winter sun as it reflected off the thick, white snow. Blinking, he saw the men at the gates, horses draped in the deep reds and golds, bearing the flags with a family crest. A crest he recognized, with aching relief._

_"Uncle!" Prince Adam called out, rushing to unlock the gates with bare, trembling fingers, barely able to contain the joy in his chest as he pulled them open and watched the center horseman dismount and pull back his hood._

_"Nephew," Prince Victor smiled. The man was still young, no more than thirty, his dark red mustache curling up warmly at the corners as he looked down at the child. He motioned for his men to head to stables before kneeling in the snow and pulling Adam against his chest. "My boy, where are your servants? They've quite neglected you, it seems."_

_"Uncle…" Adam started, unable to hold back the tears any longer. "They were...when she came, sh-she made them…and then Papa—" He tried to swallow the sob in his throat. "P-Papa was…"_

_The man hugged the child tight, realizing he couldn't say more. "Come, you're cold as ice. We'll speak inside," he said quickly, standing and wrapping an arm around his nephew as he pulled him into the dark castle._

_True to his orders, Adam's servants remained hidden. His uncle raised a brow at the strange assortment of objects spotting the floors and shelves, but said nothing as they moved towards the study. "I knew something had happened," the man said gently. "Your father is always diligent in his letters. To go so long without a word—I was starting to worry."_

_Adam couldn't seem to stop the moisture as it flowed freely from his eyes._ Someone came for me, _he realized in shock._ Uncle came for me.

_They entered the great office, where his small fire now roared with greater life, and Adam felt his uncle set him in an armchair and place a blanket around his shoulders. After several long minutes, the shock and cold wore away and he looked up at the man, now seated across from him at the fire._

_"My brother is dead?" the older prince asked, bluntly but gently._

_Adam shrugged, his tears over that long since dried up. "I don't know," he admitted._

_"And your servants, all dead?"_

_Adam shook his head quickly. "No, they…" He pursed his lips, before telling his uncle everything. About the witch's appearance, about turning his servants to objects…about his father._

_"He's really gone," Prince Victor said, looking blankly at the carpet beneath their feet. He was quiet for a long moment before he spoke, his voice suddenly deeper than before. "And you…his_ _ **only**_ _heir."_

_Adam felt his heart stop for a moment, looking up into his uncle's eyes. They had lost their warmth, his smile no longer comforting as he licked his lips._

_"U-Uncle?" the boy asked nervously. "What…what do you mean?"_

_The only reply was the sound of metal against metal as the older prince slid his sword slowly from its sheath. Adam's eyes grew wide, small frame quaking in fresh fear as he backed over the arm of the chair and across the room. His uncle followed slowly, the sword reflecting the light of the fire that matched the sudden bloodlust in the man's eyes._

_"D-don't," Adam cried helplessly, tripping over a stack of books onto his back, staring up at the powerful man towering over him._

_"To think…it could be so_ _ **easy**_ ," _Prince Victor said to himself, watching the child with hungry eyes. "To think I could walk in here a prince…and walk out a_ _ **king**_."

_"Please," Adam begged, squeezing his eyes shut as he cowered in terror. "P-please, Uncle, don't—!"_

_"Stop!" a voice cried out, and Adam peaked an eye open to see a golden object in the doorway, his flames rivaling that of the fire in the pit._

Lumiere, _Adam realized, unable to move in his shock as his uncle stepped back and stared at the talking object._

_"My God…you weren't lying, then," Prince Victor breathed._

_Cogsworth waddled into the room beside him, trembling head to toe as he stood beside the old candle. "Our master n-never—" He stopped, puffing out his wooden chest in courage. "Our master_ **_never_** _lies."_

_"This—this is the work of the devil," Victor said suddenly, nose curling up in disgust as more of the mobile objects slowly following suit and filled the room. "The work of the devil, I say!" he cried, the trembling sword in his hands betraying his fear._

_This, of course, did not pass Lumiere's notice. "Need we call the kitchen knives as well, my lord?"_ _he said darkly. "Or, perhaps, the armory? They haven't seen action in weeks—I'm sure they're anxious to be put to use again."_

_Adam, of course, knew few of the servants would be any use in a fight as they were now—still unexperienced in their forms, most useless besides perhaps scratching at the man's ankles. Though their slow movement into the room appeared ominous, it was really the fastest most of them could move at all. But of course, his uncle didn't know that._

_Lumiere was clearly bluffing._

_Prince Victor ground his teeth, eyes flashing in anger as he glared the various objects down. "I have a troop of men at my command, just in the yard," he threatened._

_"Please, Prince Victor. There's no need for that," Lumiere went on with all his usual gusto, though there was a slight darkness in his tone Adam had never heard before. "Our master is no threat to you. He cannot leave the grounds, you see. Certainly there is no reason why he cannot be left alone."_

_Adam's uncle raised a brow, turning back to him. "You cannot leave?" he asked curiously._

_The boy shook his head, chest still filled with fear of the man he thought he'd known._

_"Prove it," Prince Victor snarled, dragging him to his feet and sliding the sword back into his sheath. "Prove you are no threat to me."_

_A half hour later, Adam sat shivering in his saddle at the outskirts of the grounds, the path to the village ground fresh in the snow from his uncle's troops. Lumiere was tucked away in a satchel to his left, though Adam hadn't a clue what the candelabra planned to do if his uncle decided to murder him in the woods._

_Before them, the older prince watched without sympathy as Adam dismounted slowly and walked forwards. Reaching a hand out, he felt the invisible wall beneath his palm, placing both hands against its cool surface and pressing with all his might._

_"A mime!" a soldier cried out in amusement, earning a few laughs from his comrades._

_Adam's eyes stung with grief, looking up with newfound fury at the only family he had left._

_Prince Victor scowled, dismounting his own steed and moving quickly towards him through the falling snow. "I'm not convinced," he said, reaching back through the barrier and grabbing the child's arm with strong fingers. Adam cried out in pain as he attempted to pull him through, his arm flying into the wall and skin breaking open at the contact. His uncle's eyes grew wide as his attempt failed._

_"Hmm. You must be a very wicked child to deserve such a punishment," he said darkly, dropping the boy to his knees and turning his back on him to address his troops. "King Alexandre is dead," he announced with a loud voice. The men remained silent—they knew when to speak, and when not to. "My dear brother, a victim to a child possessed by the devil himself."_

_Adam's head shot up. "What?!" he cried. "I didn't—"_

_"As punishment for his crimes, God has cursed these grounds and its inhabitants," Victor went on, not acknowledging Adam's protests. "For your safety, no one is ever to return to this place. Understood?"_

_"Yes, Your Highness!" the men cried as one._

_As they all turned to leave, Adam's uncle turned once more to face him. "Do not worry, Nephew," he smirked. "I'll take good care of your kingdom for you." At that, he mounted his horse and rode to the front of the men, fully expecting his nephew dead from neglect within the year._

_Adam watched them leave, the snow growing heavy as the hoof falls faded in the distance. He let it pile atop his head and shoulders, staring at the road until his vision began to blur._

_"…Prince Adam?" Lumiere said anxiously from the satchel._

_The boy didn't move, all his strength sucked away from cold and betrayal. "I'm not a prince," he rasped. "I…I'm no one, now."_

_Lumiere was quiet for a long moment. "You are still our master, my lord. And we need you now more than ever before."_

_Adam bit his lip, somehow more tears forming in his eyes. He blinked them away, curling his hands into fists as he nodded slowly. He took a deep breath. "Let's…let's go home, Lumiere."_

_"Yes, Master," Lumiere replied with soberness. "Let's go home."_

* * *

"So," Adam breathed, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. "On the bright side, I suppose my imprisonment here did save my life, in a way."

"I…I can't believe he did that to you," Belle said quietly, only half-hearing him. "You were only a child. You…you were his family."

Adam narrowed his eyes. "When you know the aristocracy...well, let's just say murdering a kid in the way of the throne isn't so far-fetched," he said darkly.

Belle frowned deeply, though what she'd read in the library's history section certainly didn't contradict such a theme of violence.

"Anyway," he went on. "I'm certain Victor thinks me dead by now. And perhaps a decade has given him time to quell his fears about the enchantment."

Belle's eyes grew wide. "You don't mean…you don't think he'll come back, do you?" she asked in fear.

He looked up, blue eyes dark and serious in the shadows of the underground room. "I do. My castle is much grander than his. He'll certainly want it for himself."

"B-but you're stronger than him, he…he can't hurt you this time," she said anxiously.

Adam's eyes softened a bit at her words. "It's true that if he came alone, I could defeat him. Easily," he smirked, though the smile fell quickly. "But he will certainly come with dozens of men—hundreds, more likely. Even with the entire armory on my side…I fear we'll be at a disadvantage."

"Then—th-then you have to leave—" Belle stopped quickly, glancing quickly back at the wall beside them. _He can't,_ she remembered, heart sinking in her chest.

"Belle," he said seriously. "If Victor comes through Molyneaux, you have to promise to ride here immediately. Don't let his men get near your home before you leave."

"What?" she asked in confusion. "But, I thought you said…"

"Your town is the last stop on his route here," he explained. His expression grew dark again. "And my uncle and his men—they're known to take what they like from the people…from the _women_ in their path."

Belle's chest grew tight as his meaning became clear. She couldn't even think straight enough to ask Adam how he could have known such a thing after being trapped here all these years. Instead, she only stared at him as the terrible implication of his words washed over her. Unable to speak, she nodded in agreement.

He seemed to relax at that, crawling back to the opening they'd come down. He turned back, holding out an arm. Belle moved over and reached around him, letting him pick her up once more. Letting herself feel safe in his grasp.

"We'll make this place more functional," he went on, beginning the long climb back towards the surface. "Load it with supplies, enough that you will have somewhere safe until things calm down and you can escape—"

"But what about you?" Belle asked in confusion.

Adam stopped in place. "I will fight above with the others," he stated.

"What?" she gasped. "No! I can't—I can't just coop myself up here why you're all—"

"Belle, we'd bring the fragile servants down here too," he explained straightly. "Chip, Mrs. Potts, the dishes—anyone who doesn't stand a chance above."

Belle fell silent, realizing Adam wasn't only trying to protect her. He was asking her to protect the others. How could she say no to that?

"It's only a precaution. And I doubt he'd make the journey here any earlier than spring, if he even comes this year at all," he continued. "But Belle, if I'm right…promise me you'll do this. Please."

"…I promise," she agreed reluctantly. _I just hope you're wrong._


	10. Chapter 9

The old woman sighed in relief as the tavern came into view. Though it had been years, she had once frequented it often—and it never failed to provide her what she needed.

She managed down the icy road without too much trouble, hobbling up to the inn's door and giving it a couple good _whacks_ with her walking stick. A man in a dirty apron soon answered, motioning her inside with a grunt. He led her to a table in the corner, and soon brought over a small loaf of bread and some cheap ale before returning to his customers.

So he thought her a beggar. All the better.

Her eyes scanned the dark pub, fixing quickly on a suitable target. The man was massive, his form barely fitting on the stool at the bar as he ate a lonely meal. The woman pulled her hood on a little tighter, hiding the small flash of light from her skin. She felt the magic's pull on her meager reserves, but it would be worth it for such a feast.

 _"Bonjour,_ monsieur."

The man looked up. A beautiful woman leaned against the counter beside him, red hair falling in ringlets around her shoulders that seemed to match her eyes. She was well-endowed, and his eyes lingered for a moment before looking quickly away.

"Not interested," he said firmly, touching his wedding band and wishing he were home. Only one more day's journey, and he would be.

The woman only pushed herself closer. "Oh, love, don't be like that."

Now he was thoroughly irritated. "I said I wasn't interested," he rasped, eyes fixed on his meal.

A look of pure fury flashed across the woman's features, but they quickly calmed as she pulled something from her cloak. She held out a rose between her fingers, fresh as if plucked in spring. The eyes of a few nearby customers drooped heavily with the flower's powerful scent.

The man himself, however, just looked surprised. "Oh, is that all?" he asked, reaching into his pocket for some change. "Well sure, I'll take one. My wife loves ros—" He stopped, looking up to see the woman had disappeared as quickly as she'd come.

The witch hung in the shadows of the tavern, tempted to scream in frustration. King Alexandre's words rung in her ears, taunting her as they always did.

_"I've known true love, Enchantress. Such spells have no effect on me anymore."_

She ground her teeth hard. Curse these wretched men immune to her power. This traveler just _had_ to be married, and of course, _actually_ in love with his damned wife. At this rate, it would have been better for her to keep the old woman's form, given the lack of suitable options remaining. While worn with age, the body had provided an easy way to travel without attracting too much notice, and an easy way to get a free meal. Though such meals barely made a dent in the kind of energy she required.

Her red eyes tore across the room, fixing on its owner, the same man who'd let her in. Though not as large as her first choice, he was still well-built, and would do the job. She hated to use him though, given he ran the inn that she'd come to feast at for so many years, but it wouldn't do to waste a spell already cast.

She waited in silence as the customers dispersed and the man was nearly finished with his duties before approaching him. She hadn't even needed the rose; her new form's charm was enough to encourage this one to follow her into one of the inn's empty rooms.

The enchantress grinned as the man locked the door himself. He'd sealed his own fate.

As he turned around, she again pulled the rose from her robes, letting its powerful scent flood the small room. The witch watched with pleasure as the lust in the man's eyes fell into a boorish daze.

"Ah, there we are," she smirked, pressing him back against the closed door. For a moment, her fingertips hesitated over his heart, but she pulled back quickly.

No, it wouldn't do to kill him. She liked to reuse her prey, after all.

Instead, she reached up, planting her lips against his. He leaned in obediently, and she soon felt his lifeblood flowing into her. He was stronger, healthier than she'd taken him for, so much so that she wasn't as tempted as normal to take it all.

The man's strength sucked away, he would have fallen to the ground in a heap had she not held his shirt in her own strong grip. Looking around, she noticed a small mirror hanging against the wall beside them.

"That'll do," she decided, touching its surface with the tip of one finger. The mirror grew in size, as wide as the man and nearly as tall, soon snapping the wire than held it in place and settling heavily against the floor. Behind the glass, a dark fog appeared.

"In you go," she ordered, pushing the limp body into the mist. As the reflection returned to her own, the witch stood for a long moment admiring herself.

 _Just a few more of those, and I can deal with that girl,_ she sighed with satisfaction, skin glowing again as she returned to the old woman's decrepit form. _But first…let's look in on my dear prince._

* * *

The bunker began to take on new form as Belle, Adam, and some of the more mobile servants started cleaning it out and filling it with supplies. Belle herself found it surprisingly fun to make the little home beneath the earth, as long as she didn't think about it too hard. Spring still seemed very far away, after all.

Adam managed to secure the rope ladder into the earth at several more places along the narrow tunnel, and insisted Belle try it out to make sure she could get inside on her own. However, once she'd managed it, there seemed to be a silent agreement that it was easier to return to their original way of making the descent.

And if Belle was being honest with herself…she liked it.

Of course, life in general seemed to be taking a new, pleasant turn. She explored different parts of the forest each day, still found endless subjects for her notebook, and was quite certain she'd doubled the number of books she'd ever read in just the last couple months. Of course, she missed her parents dearly, and not a day went by when she didn't think of them. Yet at the same time she'd never felt so…fulfilled.

 _Fulfilled. Yes, that's the word,_ Belle thought in triumph, trying to pretend that it wasn't simply a substitute for the warm but mildly… _alarming_ feeling she'd been getting in her chest lately. She stole a glance at her companion, now squatting on the thick rug beside her, surrounded on all sides by mountains of books. He was currently attempting to balance yet another novel on the neat stack beside him, tongue peeking out the corner of his mouth in concentration. Belle felt herself smiling, which was quickly replaced by a burning in her cheeks.

 _Why am I so embarrassed?_ she wondered anxiously. _Could…could I be—_

 _Nothing! It's nothing,_ Belle told herself sternly, refocusing on her current task. "Um…Antoine de Nervèze, was it?" she asked from her spot at the grand library desk.

"Mm," Adam affirmed. He looked up, cocking a head. "Oh, Belle, you look flushed," he said with concern. "We can move away from the fire if you—"

"I'm fine!" she said quickly, only reddening further as she scribbled in the author's name under _les Amours. That must be it,_ she realized. _Recording all these love novels has simply gotten to my head—_

"Mademoiselle Belle!" someone called. "Mademoiselle, are you here?"

"Yes, I'm here," she called, standing from her seat to see a small feather duster skirting across the room.

"Pardon moi," the little maid said, bowing quickly. "But…well, one of Monsieur Lumiere's candles has fallen beyond our reach, and we were hoping you could retrieve it."

"Of course, Fifi," Belle agreed. "Where is it?"

The little duster seemed embarrassed, glancing at her master before speaking. "B-behind one of the bedframes, mademoiselle. I-in the Bleu Room."

If Adam made a face, Belle ignored it, holding back a chuckle. It wasn't as though Lumiere and Fifi's relationship was a secret—nor, could she imagine, they could get into much trouble in their current forms. Though she deemed it best just not to think about it too hard.

After fetching the lost candle, she returned to the library to find Adam sitting lazily on one of the couches, her sketchbook open in his lap. She was about to scold him for looking without asking when she noticed he was staring intently at the open page, brows furrowed as if confused by what he saw. Looking over his shoulder, she noticed the sketch he was looking at and flushed again.

"Is that my father?" he asked, glancing up at her before gazing back at the drawing.

"Um…not exactly."

"It looks just like him…well, a lot like him," he breathed.

"It's a little different," she explained, clearing her throat awkwardly. "The, um, jawline is softer, and the eyes lighter."

He was silent for a long moment, before his eyes grew wide. "Is that… _me?"_

Belle bit her lip hard. "I—I was just…i-it was only a character study," she stammered, leaning back and wringing her hands in her apron where she stood. "I thought it might help me develop my skill if I…I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend you, I d-didn't expect you to—"

"I'm not offended," he said quietly, and Belle could tell he was sincere. He continued to stare at the portrait, a small smile growing over his face before he looked back up at her. "Do you really think I would have looked like that?"

She shrugged. "Maybe." Relieved he wasn't upset, she moved around to sit beside him, pulling the sketchbook into her lap and turning to the previous page. "See—here's your father, and mother...and you as a child, all from the castle paintings," she explained, pointing to each in turn. "I was curious if I could combine them. Mrs. Potts told me you took after the king, but I kept some of your mother's features I noticed in your younger portrait…mainly the shape of her eyes," she said, turning back to her imagined sketch of him.

Adam stared at it for another long moment. "Mrs. Potts was right," he observed at last.

"Right?"

His grin widened as he glanced over at her. "I really would've been a handsome devil."

Belle laughed. "Don't let it get to your head," she teased, shaking her head at him as she closed the notebook and put it aside. "Come, let's continue with _les Amours."_

Adam's shoulders drooped as he eyed the piles of remaining books with dread. "There's just…so _many,"_ he sighed. "Queen Marie certainly had a thing for sappy romance novels."

"Oh, they're not so bad," Belle said lightly. "Don't pretend you haven't read any of them."

He muttered something unintelligible, avoiding eye contact as picked up the next book and turned to the title page. Belle smirked, realizing she was right but letting it slide as they continued with their task.

A couple hours later, they finally made it through the stacks of books, deciding to put them away the next day as Adam left to prepare one of the horses for her journey home. She moved to gather her things as he entered the hall, pausing just before sliding her sketchbook into her satchel. Pulling it to the desk, she opened it to the imagined sketch of Adam in human form, pausing for a long moment before very carefully tearing the page from its binding and flipping it over. Grabbing the quill from its stand, she penned a short message on the back.

_Dear Adam,_

_I'm glad we're friends, no matter your form._

_Yours, Belle_

"Mmm," she hummed in satisfaction, letting the ink dry before turning it back over and moving quickly from the room.

* * *

Adam sat on his bed, reading the short note for the umpteenth time, the smile splitting over his face that he'd been trying to quell since he'd found the drawing in the library.

_Yours, Belle_

He knew the closing could mean any number of things—likely written with nothing more than friendly intentions. But he couldn't help but like her word choice.

He turned the page back over, looking at the skilled portrait on the other side. He'd often wondered what he would have grown up to look like, and it was strange but oddly heartwarming to see it depicted. _Maybe I'll really look like that soon,_ he thought with hope.

After several more minutes, he stood, looking for a place where he could display it. His eyes caught the vanity mirror, and he moved over quickly, tucking it into the edge of the frame. Maybe he could look at that instead of his current form some mornings. Maybe it could remind him of who he was on the inside. Belle seemed to have a way of doing that for him.

As he looked at the drawing for a moment longer, something else caught his eye in the tall mirror. He gasped, spinning around in the dim room—but as far as he could tell, it was empty.

"Hello?" he asked, eyes boring into the shadows cast by the inanimate candles beside his unused bed. Only a gentle wind against the windows answered, and he frowned. _Must've imagined it,_ he shrugged, looking back at the mirror.

A hooded figure now stared back at him.

Adam's heart flew into his throat. He backed away on impulse, knocking the short seat aside in his wake. The woman simpered, wrinkled fingers sticking out of her sleeves. He couldn't make out more than her unnerving, toothless smile.

"Wh-who are you?" he stammered.

The woman only shook her head.

"Where—where did you come from?!" he demanded, regaining his voice.

The old figure didn't react aside from her smile, which grew threefold. In the blink of an eye, she vanished as quickly as she'd come.

"Wait!" he cried, reaching towards the reflection, realization flooding over him. "My father! Do you know where he—" He stopped, fingers pressed against the cool glass, his own reflection staring back at him once again. He pulled his paw back, watching his chest rise and fall, hearing his heavy breaths ringing off the walls of the otherwise silent room.

 _Did I imagine it?_ he wondered anxiously, suddenly bathed in sweat as the memories washed over him.

"Oh God," he breathed. "…I'm seeing them too."

* * *

_"Who are you talking to, Maman?"_

_The queen looked over at her son, blinking rapidly before turning back to the mirror before her. "I…I thought someone was…" She shook her head, swallowing roughly before motioning the boy over. "No one, my dear."_

_Adam frowned, but didn't press the issue as he moved to her side. From where his mother sat at the vanity, he already stood a bit taller than her, though the large stack of books in his arms dwarfed him a bit. She looked at their reflections and smiled. "You really do look like your father, you know."_

_The prince finally grinned a bit, standing a bit taller and puffing out his chest._

_She chuckled at him. "Even more so with those," she went on, pointing to the stack in his arms. "What on earth is your tutor having you study now?"_

_"Oh, this isn't for my lessons," Adam said, hefting the stack onto the vanity counter with some difficulty before pulling off the first text and showing her its cover:_ Two Treatises on Government, _by John Locke. "Papa let me borrow these from his study. I've only started this one, though."_

_The queen looked impressed. "Yes, I've read Locke's work myself. And what have you learned so far?" she prodded._

_"He says that God made all people equal—even kings and peasants!" Adam said with interest. "And that there's no such thing as the divine right of kings." Suddenly, he cocked his head. "I was confused about that though, because my tutor told me God made Louis le Grand the great Sun King, but when I asked Papa about it,_ _**he** _ _told me that's bullsh—"_

 _His mother quickly placed a finger over his lips. "Oh dear, I may need to have a word with your father," she said with some amusement. "But, though I'd use less…_ _**colorful** _ _language that Papa, I too agree with Monsieur Locke."_

_"You do?" Adam said excitedly._

_"Mmhmm," she smiled, before a look of worry crossed her face. "But darling, it would be wise not to speak of such things with anyone but your father and me for now."_

_"Don't worry! Papa made me promise not to tell. He said he doesn't want Grand-Père to find out he's making me into a literal."_

_"You mean a liberal," the queen chuckled. "And I'm afraid he's right. Your grandfather should definitely not hear about this—" She stopped suddenly, eyes growing wide as she stared back at the mirror._

_"M-Maman?" Adam stuttered. "Maman…what's wrong? What do you see?" he asked, grabbing her hand and looking anxiously between her face and their reflection._

_"It's nothing," she whispered, even as arms quaked. She turned around in her seat, scanning the room fearfully as she held her son's hand painfully tight. "I-it's nothing."_

* * *

"Adam, is something wrong?"

"Oh, it's…it's nothing."

Belle raised a brow. He'd been acting strange all morning, eyes darting between the trees at the slightest sound, ears upright and alert as if constantly surveying their surroundings.

"Really, it's nothing," he said with slightly more conviction, though he didn't make eye contact as he continued replacing the boards over the finished bunker. The task had taken little more than a week, and Belle was surprised to find herself feeling disappointed that it was over.

"Did you really climb to the top of the tallest tree here?" she asked, deciding it best to change the subject instead of prying further. Though in truth, she'd been curious about it ever since he mentioned trying to reach the top of the invisible wall.

Adam laid the last board across the hole before turning back to her. His eyes were smiling. "Why, did you want to see it?" he asked slyly.

Belle furrowed her brows. _He really is acting strange today,_ she thought to herself. "Um…maybe? Is it worth it?" she asked.

"Well…yes," he answered slowly. "Though it's _very_ high. Are you sure you're brave enough?"

Belle pouted, crossing her arms. "Of course I am!" she said adamantly.

When Adam snickered, she realized he'd been teasing her. _Oh, good grief,_ she huffed, though she couldn't stop the smile that tugged at her lips or the flush across her cheeks.

Sophie and Lumiere, who'd been helping that day, offered to take Philippe back to the stables as the two friends took off down a new section of the path.

"You know, I'm quite impressed," the maid said absently as they disappeared.

"Oh? How's that?" the maître d' inquired.

The armor placed a hand on her hip, stopping and looking over at the candelabra in her other. "I just never imagined our little master would turn out to be a better flirt than _you."_

"I— _excusez-moi?!"_

* * *

Belle stood at the base of an enormous tree, its base so large even Adam could only wrap his arms about halfway around it. She stared straight up, no end in sight to the branches that disappeared into the dark canopy.

"Maybe…maybe I'm _not_ brave enough," she said nervously, chewing her lip and looking back at him.

"You are," he said sincerely, tugging off his jacket and hanging it over a nearby branch. He proceeded to roll up his sleeves, already dusty from the bunker, before turning back to her. "I mean, not everyone can say they've been in the top of a giant sequoia. But…it's up to you."

Belle pursed her lips, looking back into the branches far above as Adam moved beside her. He glanced down, holding his breath as she made her decision. She smiled a little—his eagerness was contagious. "Okay," she agreed, sucking in a breath of anticipation.

A moment later, he'd gathered her up in one arm once again and begun the long climb. He moved surprisingly fast, claws grasping the thick bark with ease as he reached the bottom of the canopy. From there, he wove expertly through the web of branches, and Belle held him ever tighter the higher they went. She didn't dare look down.

"Watch yourself," he breathed as they neared the dense, spindly branches of the canopy's top. Belle curled closer against him, and Adam pushed the brush away and pulled them out into the open air.

"You can open your eyes now," he chuckled a moment later. Belle hadn't even realized she'd closed them, and had to blink rapidly against the bright, open sky before the view became clear.

They sat in one of the upper branches, its top towering over the rest of the treetops which spread out for miles around. She'd seen these trees from the castle, and from the peak—but now she felt she was really _part_ of the landscape itself.

"Neat, right?" Adam prodded.

Belle tried to grin, but realized she was already smiling as much as she could. Adam let her down carefully to her feet, keeping a firm arm around her waist where he crouched. She clung to him, staring over the treetops, gasping in delight as a flock of birds took flight out of their branches.

"It's even better in the summer, when all the trees are green," he went on.

"Oh! We should come back then too," she said earnestly, finally tearing her eyes from the scene to look back at him.

For some reason, he sucked in a nervous breath. "Well, I'm not sure I'll still be—" He stopped, grimacing in discomfort. He managed to clear his throat a moment later, sighing. "I mean…maybe we will."

Belle frowned. Had the curse just stopped him from speaking again?

"Look there," he said suddenly, knocking his head towards an adjacent tree. Belle looked over, squinting, then gasping when she spotted it—a giant swarm of bees tucked into the branches.

"Don't worry, they're hibernating," Adam explained quickly, holding her a little tighter. "They swarm like that to keep the queen warm."

"Really?" Belle asked with interest. She suddenly recalled the large collection of zoology texts in the child's parlor. She grinned, wondering if they had really been Adam's after all.

He nodded. "Plus, we're too far off to disturb them, anyway."

Belle sensed he spoke from experience this time. She raised a questioning brow at him.

"Mmm," he hummed. "…Remember those honey scones Bouche made?"

Belle's mouth fell open. "You didn't."

He grinned a little sheepishly. "I only took a _little._ They build up way more honeycomb than they need anyway."

"But…how did you do it? Didn't you get stung?" she asked in shock.

He shrugged. "I got a couple stings. But this stuff is pretty good at keeping them away," he said, shaking his mane a bit. "Mainly I just got, um…really sticky."

A laugh bubbled up in Belle's throat. "I guess _Master Béranger_ wasn't too far off," she teased, recalling her first nickname for him, unable to push away the image of a bear stealing honey from an unsuspecting hive.

"Ah, come on! I don't get a lot of sugar around here," he pouted.

Belle managed to tame her laughter. "Well, I have to say you've been very resourceful," she admitted.

"Just like…" He trailed off, looking even more embarrassed than before.

"Just like what?"

He raised a brow. "You'll only laugh at me."

"I won't, I promise."

He looked skeptical, but continued. "I just…when I was younger, after everything happened, I would sometimes picture myself like…like Robinson Crusoe," he admitted. "I sort of thought of the palace grounds as my desert island. I wanted to make use of everything I could, just like he did." He paused. "Though trapping wild boars in pits turns out to be much more difficult than goats."

Belle smiled warmly. _To my favorite little explorer,_ she recalled again.

"Pretty silly, right?" Adam asked with a lopsided smile.

Belle shook her head. "I don't think so. I used to pretend I was King Arthur when I took Philippe out riding. Found myself a great stick for a sword, and wove a very lovely flower crown," she said in mock pride.

Adam's ears perked up. "Who were your knights?" he asked, eyes gleaming with mirth.

"Well, I tried to recruit some of the boys, but they never wanted to play with me," she shrugged, before grinning. "Though perhaps it was presumptuous to assume the kingship for myself."

Instead of laughing, however, Adam grew suddenly serious. "I would have played with you," he said adamantly. Belle stared at him in surprise, and he looked away in some embarrassment. "I mean…it, um, might have been nice to have someone my age around here..."

Belle's eyes grew wide, suddenly realizing that, perhaps, she wasn't the only one who hadn't had a real friend before.

"Well…" she started quietly. "It's too bad I didn't know you then, I suppose."

"Mm," he agreed, though they both knew nothing of the sort would have been possible. Peasants and princes didn't mingle in the real world, after all.

At that moment, a cool wind blew through the trees, biting at Belle's skin and making her shiver.

"Come, it's growing cold," Adam said softly. Belle took one last, lingering look over the landscape before they began the return to the forest floor, both thinking of things that might have been.

* * *

"Adam, look at this," Belle said eagerly during one frigid November afternoon spent in the library.

He took the book, open to a simple drawing in the oriental style, a massive structure weaving between hills and several foreign characters lining the edges of the page.

"The Great Wall of China," he noted.

"See what it says here," Belle said excitedly, looking over his arm at the depiction and turning to the next page where the figure was described. "Over twenty-two _hundred_ lieues long, and two millennia old! Oh, what I'd give to see it," she mused, eyes dancing as she pulled back and stared absently across the room. She suddenly furrowed her brows. "Though I wonder if it's really as impressive as they say."

"It's even more impressive, actually."

She froze, looking up at him with wide eyes. "You…you've seen it?" she breathed, mouth falling open in shock.

"Oh, yes, just took a short trip last summer," he said dryly. "They give beasts a discount on travel, didn't you know?"

 _"Ugh,"_ she pouted, tugging the book back and plopping down on the couch. "You're teasing me."

"A little," he admitted, folding his paws behind his back as he smiled. "Still…I _have_ seen it."

She tried not to look phased, though Adam didn't miss the aching curiously in Belle's eyes as she glanced back over at him.

"Come on, I'll show you," he said, hiding a smirk as he moved towards the door.

Belle was quiet for a long minute before he heard the soft patter of her feet following him into the hall.

"I _know_ you're pulling my leg," she said earnestly, even as her eyes searched their surroundings for any sign of what he was going to show her.

"Where are you going?" a little voice asked as they turned towards the West Wing. Adam looked down to see Chip staring up at them eagerly from the rug.

"To see the Great Wall of China, _apparently,"_ Belle replied, raising a brow as she gave Adam the side-eye.

Chip hopped up and down excitedly. "Oh, you'll _love_ it, Belle!" he cried. "Master, c-can I see it again, too? _Please?"_

Belle's mouth fell open for the second time. "Next time, Chip," Adam grinned, barely containing his laughter as Belle looked between the two of them in disbelief.

They soon reached the steps leading to the West Wing, and he paused. "Um," he started, wondering if this was a good idea after all. "Just…just wait here a minute."

Belle furrowed her brows. "…Okay," she replied in confusion, looking a little deflated.

He crunched his face up for a moment, before sighing. "I mean, you can come. Just…just don't _touch_ anything," he said seriously.

A strange look passed over her face for a moment, but her eyes quickly brightened. "I won't," she promised.

He led her through the dark halls, purposely avoiding the stares in the portraits lining the family wing. Especially the boy with the bright, blue eyes. They were soon at his chambers, and he led her quietly inside, leaving the doors open before moving to the bedside table.

"Here," he said, handing her the silver mirror. She took it carefully in her hands, turning it over in search of anything mysterious.

"It's a…mirror," she said blankly, running her fingers over the delicate carvings along the frame. Her eyes brightened in amusement. "I didn't realize you had such feminine taste, Adam."

He pouted, taking it back from her in embarrassment. "It's not for…never mind. Just watch," he said turning back to the object. "Show me the Great Wall of China," he ordered. "Beginning at Shanhaiguan."

Adam's reflection faded as the object obeyed his command, and he turned it back to her. She gasped as light from the surface filled the dark room. Soon, the mirror dimmed, showing an aerial view of the Great Wall as though from the eyes of a sparrow overhead. It began at the great pass bordering the sea, moving inland at a steady pace.

Belle stared at moving image in shock, before leaning down to look beneath the mirror as if expecting to find China itself beneath it. "How…" she breathed, looking back at the mirror's surface with wide, unblinking eyes. "Is…is this real?"

"Yes," he replied. "At least, I assume so."

"I can't believe it," she breathed, taking the mirror from his grasp and holding it reverently in her own. "This…this is incredible. I never thought I'd be able to see…" She trailed off, clearly overwhelmed, her chest rising and falling heavily as she continued to stare at the mirror.

Adam let himself watch her, the joy in her face sending a quiet pride into his heart. "It isn't just that," he whispered a minute later. "You can see anything you wish."

She looked up at him in awe, before glancing back down at the mirror. "I'd like to see the Nile…please," she asked politely.

He chuckled. "The mirror isn't one of us, Belle. You can just tell it what to do."

"Oh," she blushed, face glowing again as the object obeyed her wish.

Belle eventually settled beside the hearth, her skirt billowing out around her as she watched the mirror with increased fascination. Adam took several minutes to light the hearth, then stood beside the mantle until she beckoned him to her side to share in her latest discovery. He wouldn't have been so hesitant, but for the fact that the rug where she sat was where he slept each night. Though of course, she didn't know that. Settling down, he rested a cautious paw on the ground behind Belle at first, but after a couple hours found himself with her nestled against his side.

"I'm sorry, I'm afraid I've made us quite idle today," Belle said absently, watching a herd of African elephants as they played in a water hole.

"No, no it's fine," he breathed, still overwhelmed by their quiet closeness, distracted by the hem of her dress caught between his fingers.

"I can't _believe_ you didn't show me this sooner," she said in mild irritation, finally tearing her eyes away to look up at him.

"Sorry," he shrugged. "It just—it became a bit of a problem when I first got it."

"A problem?"

Adam pursed his lips as he thought of how best to explain. "How many objects do you think can fit on there?" he finally asked, nodding towards his bed on the far side of the room.

"What?"

"Just guess. Including a smaller version of me."

She laughed, even as her face crunched up in confusion. "Well, I suppose it depends on the size of the object…but maybe twenty?"

"Forty-six," he smirked. "And that's including Madame de La Grande Bouche."

* * *

_"Hi Master!"_

_The young Beast leaned over the side of the bed to see the little three year-old teacup looking up at him eagerly._

_"Oh, hi Jack," he said to the yet un-chipped tea ware. "Did you want to come up?"_

_The porcelain child bounced in place, which Adam took as a yes. Reaching down, he hooked a finger through the cup's handle and lifted him onto his shoulder._

_"What doing?" Jack asked curiously, looking at the silver mirror in his master's lap._

_The young teenager grinned. "Watch this," he said, before ordering the mirror to show him the jungles of India. Jack gasped as a tiger crossed the mirror's path, hiding against his master's neck in fear._

_Adam laughed. "It's okay, it's not really here. We can just watch it—watch anything we want!" he said excitedly as Jack peeked back around to look at the animals moving through the bright green jungle._

_"Jack!" a nervous voice called out. "Where are you, love?" Mrs. Potts rolled in on the tea tray, sighing in relief as she spotted her grandson. "And what are you boys up to?" she asked, raising a brow._

_"Mama, look!" the child cried. Adam turned the mirror towards the old pot as the tiger prowled past the frame once again. He probably should have learned his lesson the first time, considering the poor woman nearly fell backwards off the tray in her shock. Once the object's power was explained to her, however, Mrs. Potts showed as much interest as the three year-old child, asking to see Buckingham Palace and Windsor Castle from her homeland._

_"Mrs. Potts, is supper almost ready for the master?" an insistent voice called out as Cogsworth entered the bedroom. Better prepared this time, Adam started by showing the butler the calm Mediterranean shores. For once in his life, the head of the household forgot his duties as he, too, made several eager requests from the mirror._

_After that, it was like a domino effect, and the young master soon found dozens of the servants crowded around him, fighting to see the mysteries of the world through the enchanted reflection. When the large wardrobe fell onto the bed for a look and sent several servants bouncing dangerously off the mattress, Adam realized he may have made a mistake._

"After that, Cogsworth set up a schedule so everyone would have a turn," Adam explained to Belle's quiet chuckles. "And so we'd actually get our work done. Though eventually, the novelty wore off."

"Well, I can't imagine _ever_ getting used to this," Belle said earnestly, before cocking her head. "Where did you get this, anyway?"

"Um," he started, pulling back a bit. "Same place I got this," he said blankly, waving a hand from his head down his torso.

"Oh…sorry," she grimaced.

He shrugged, looking over towards the balcony. "The enchantress gave it to me. Called it my 'only window to the outside world.' She seemed to think it a punishment," he mused. "Like it would make me ache for those I could never be near. At least, that's what I assume."

"Well, she sounds like a fool," Belle said straightly, hands resting defiantly on her hips where she sat. "She _clearly_ underestimated your imagination."

Adam let himself smile a bit. "It's nothing like yours. I can't _believe_ I never thought to look at the North Pole."

She grinned. "I'm a little disappointed we didn't see Papa Noël, though."

A short, rough laugh escaped him before he could stop it. Belle, never perturbed, laughed openly along with him.

"I know it's growing late," she said when they calmed down, glancing towards the balcony doors. "But…could I just see one more?"

"Of course," Adam replied. He paused, glancing around the room nervously. His eyes spotted the table tucked against one corner, a cloth covering the glass case holding a very important rose. He pursed his lips, glancing back at Belle. _I trust her,_ he realized, mind made up. "I can go prepare Philippe for you in the meantime. Can you find your way outside when you're done?"

"Yes," she answered honestly. "Thank you—I won't be long."

Twenty minutes later, Adam held Philippe's reins in one hand, waiting outside the kitchens for Belle to emerge. He was about to go see if she'd gotten lost when the door opened and she stepped into the cold.

Her eyes were rimmed with red.

 _"Belle,"_ he gasped, eyes growing wide. "What happened?"

She shook her head fiercely. "N-nothing," she said, looking away and rubbing an eye against her sleeve. "Just got a bit of smoke in my eyes from the fire."

Adam furrowed his brows, unconvinced. "You're not hurt?" he prodded.

"No, no," she said firmly, straightening as she reached for the horse's reins.

"Are you…are you sure you're well?" he continued anxiously. "You can stay again if you need to rest—"

"I'm well, I promise," she continued, though she didn't meet his eyes. She mounted the horse quickly, taking off out the gates as Adam watched helplessly. He looked back at the castle, thoughts turned to the West Wing.

He narrowed his eyes. Something _had_ happened, and he was going to find out what.


	11. Chapter 10

Adam stared into his room. It looked much the same as when he'd left it—Belle had even left the mirror back on the nightstand where he'd first picked it up. His eyes drifted to the corner table once again, the enchanted rose's glow seeping through its cover as early evening shadows fell over the room.

 _She promised not to touch anything,_ he recalled, even as he moved towards the symbol of his curse. Heart pounding, he carefully pulled the cloth cover from the glass encasement, squinting as the flower's brightness filled the dim space.

It looked the same as always, a small pile of dead petals resting on the table's surface, its stem hovering mysteriously above the table it sat upon. He counted the petals just to make sure.

 _Nine._ Same as when he'd last counted the night before. A pang of guilt washed over him—he should never have doubted her.

Adam sighed, replacing the cloth. Despite a mildly unhealthy obsession with the flower, he still didn't like the reminder staring him in the face every waking moment. Turning back to the room, he chewed his lip as he thought.

_"Could I just see one more?"_

_Was it the mirror?_ Adam wondered suddenly, moving over to pick up the enchanted object. _What could she have seen?_ Despite all its wonders, there were certainly any number of depressing sights in the world that could cause one grief. He himself had made the mistake of checking on his uncle's actions soon after receiving the enchanted object, which left him sick and sleepless for days.

"Show me the last thing Belle asked to see," he told the mirror, unsure if that would work but figuring it was worth a try.

The mirror glowed in response, and Adam found himself looking into a dark room, a few quiet candles surrounding a single bed. A man was hunched at the bedside, a wide-brimmed hat hanging against his back. Beside him, a thin figure was tucked into the sheets, coughing violently. Soon, the door to the room opened and the man looked back, a blood-soaked cloth in one hand.

"Maurice," Adam breathed, realization flooding over him in an instant. He watched anxiously as a physician entered the room, speaking quiet words with Belle's father. Adam turned his attention back to woman in the bed as they spoke. Like in her sketches, she reminded him of Belle, only here she was older and much frailer, eyes rimmed in a deep, dark red and skin a pale gray. He didn't know what kind of condition Soleil had been in when she left, but he couldn't imagine it had been worse than this.

Adam felt his throat growing tight. _Belle saw her mother like this,_ he realized. _Oh God, no wonder she was—_

Before he could finish the thought, he found himself back in the hall, leaping over the balcony and landing with a loud _thump_ on the floor below. His legs ached from the impact, but Adam ignored it as he ran towards the entryway and out into the cold evening air. Dropping to all fours, he raced out the gates and along the path.

"Belle!" he called out, but the path was empty and quiet but for the heavy thumping of his own limbs against the snow. He ran harder, trees whizzing past in a blur. "Belle!" he shouted again, hoping he could somehow catch up to her before she passed the—

 _"Ugh!"_ he cried, body thrown back by a force along the edge of the grounds. Head aching from the impact, Adam slowly pushed himself to his feet. He looked around as his vision cleared, noticing a nearby tree with several claw marks, too wide and deep to be done by any ordinary animal.

He'd put them there himself, after all.

"Idiot," he grumbled, reaching out to feel for the barrier than had held him back. He rested a paw against the invisible wall, heart sinking in his chest as he stared at the path that lie beyond. "Belle," he breathed, frustrated with himself for being so oblivious. But more than that, wondering why she'd kept the truth from him.

* * *

A lone hunter crouched in a tree, tucked between the branches and hidden by the shadows of early evening. He did not sport the red jacket he wore to town, but a simple brown shirt, slacks, and riding boots. It was not his attire that would impress tonight—but his kill.

At least, should the animal show. He'd been sitting, still as a viper, for hours now. This, however, was of little concern the man. He had an exceptional ability to turn his mind off for hours, even days on end. Indeed, it had probably been a good couple of weeks since he had a thought more complex than _What's for dinner?_

Still, when Gaston did make use of the organ residing behind his eyes, it proved to function surprisingly well. After all, he wasn't the greatest hunter in the province for nothing. It took no small skill to hunt down a beast, to spot the hidden tracks in the earth, to know when to wait and when to strike. Yet unlike the father who had taught him, Gaston much preferred to trap his prey when he could. While many men found their thrill in a fast and violent hunt, Gaston found it in the quiet but deadly _snap_ of a well-laid snare. There was really nothing like watching an animal succumb to something as simple as a knotted rope or a metal claw chained to the ground. And he felt no greater power than at the look of fear and helplessness in the eyes of his prey when he approached them from the shadows. You never saw that when felling a deer—by the time you came upon the kill, the animal's eyes were dead and lifeless.

No, Gaston wanted to _see_ the light leave their eyes. He _hungered_ for it.

The thought made his mouth water. He licked his lips, a small part of his brain recalling a similar feeling from something else. _What was it?_ he wondered. He furrowed his brows for a long minute, only to grin in an instant as the answer came to him.

_Belle._

He'd laid several traps for the girl already, each with a new lure—flowers, jewelry, promises to pull her from her miserable life of poverty and bear the children of the greatest man alive. Gaston had been sure he had her this last time, but it seemed that irritating mother of hers had somehow made a miraculous recovery. Perhaps he should have paid for the woman's trip to Paris after all, if just to be rid of her.

He sighed. _No loss,_ he convinced himself. It was simply time to try a different bait.

At that moment, Gaston heard a quiet snap in the air. He breathed silently, watching as an enormous bear padded into his line of sight. The animal sniffed at the air, moving directly for the slab of meat just below. Gaston watched in rapture, licking his lips again as the animal moved ever closer to the bait.

_That a girl. One more step and you're mine._

The hunter's smile burst into a full-toothed grin at the violent _crunch_ that rang out from below, thick metal teeth tearing through the bear's front limb. The animal roared in pain, thrashing about and tugging in vain against the claw secured deep in the earth. It reared back, setting off a second trap that caught its hind foot. Just as Gaston had planned.

The bear looked up as he descended from his hiding place, landing heavily on the forest floor and approaching the creature with a haughty stride. The bear roared again, swinging its free paw through the air but unable to move more than a pace in either direction.

"Not so mighty now, are you?" Gaston breathed. He cocked his gun quickly, and fired.

The bear let out a terrible roar, blood now seeping from its wounded shoulder. Gaston moved closer, reveling in his victory. He supposed most men would regret the wasted bullet, but he had plenty to spare. Besides, it was no fun to kill these creatures right away.

He hoisted the weapon back up to his shoulder, and fired again.

Now wounded in the rear leg, the bear's roars had quieted to heavy breathing. Gaston smirked, reloading the gun once more and finally taking aim for the animal's heart.

Just before he fired, however, another cry rang out from the woods. Puzzled, Gaston looked around for a minute before spotting its source—an adolescent cub, perched in a low branch, watching fearfully from the shadows.

Gaston raised his brows, lowering the rifle as he realized what he had done. Behind him, the mother cried out again, though this was clearly a sound of panic more than pain.

"A little one, eh?" he asked the creature. She only moaned, her strength nearly gone as she looked back at him with dark eyes. If he didn't know any better, he might think she was begging. _Pleading._

"Well, this changes things," he said roughly. He hoisted the gun back up, turning it towards the cub's hiding place. "Looks like I'm getting two for one, today."

* * *

"Good morning!"

Belle's voice was chipper as she entered the stables, yet her smile was too tight, her movements too stiff. Perhaps Adam would have missed these things, however, if he didn't know better.

"Belle," he said quietly, standing a pace away and watching her untie Philippe's saddle with shaking fingers.

"Yes?" she said, voice higher than normal as she threw the saddle up on its hook and worked to untie her cloak.

"I know what you saw yesterday."

She froze in place for a moment, biting her lip hard before continuing to struggle with the cloak. "I'm not sure what you mean," she said nervously.

Sighing, he took a small step towards her. "Belle…I saw her too."

By now, Belle had given up trying to untie the knot and was simply tugging at it madly. "Why—won't this—come loose—" she muttered, hands quaking more with each breath.

Without really thinking about what he was doing, Adam moved forward and covered her small hands with one of his. "Belle…stop."

She did, fingers relaxing beneath his as she stared at her feet.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he asked carefully.

Belle only shook her head, eyes squeezed shut.

"Was it the money?" he prodded. "You know I don't care about that. It could never be wasted on giving her a chance to—"

"It wasn't that," she whispered at last. "…Not just that, anyway."

"Then what was it?" he asked anxiously.

She was quiet for a long moment, pursing her lips as she stared at his paw over her fingers. "It…it wouldn't be fair," she said at last. "You've lost so much, Adam. Your parents, your kingdom—your body, even. My pain—what's a sick mother, compared to your suffering?" she asked, shaking her head again. "I have no right to grieve."

"…What?" he breathed, eyes growing wide as he processed her words. "No, Belle, that's not—you can't make comparisons like that," he said earnestly. "And—and even if you could…have _I_ ever known poverty, Belle? Or hunger?"

She shook her head slowly.

"Have I ever been sent home from school because of my sex?" he growled. "Or—or had to endure the harassment of some scoundrel in town?!"

"…I suppose not," she confessed softly.

"But _you_ have," he breathed. He brought his other paw to her shoulder, forgetting his shyness in his desperation to make her understand. "Please...talk to me. Let me help. I'll—" He stopped, swallowing roughly. "I'll do _anything_ to help you."

She sucked in a shaky breath, eyes finally filling with tears. "Oh, Adam," she gasped, face contorting in the pain she'd been hiding. "I-I'm so frightened. She looked so much worse than…what if she doesn't…w-what if she—" Belle stopped, hiding her face in her hands as her shoulders began to tremble.

Adam's arms moved on their own, wrapping around her small frame and pulling her against him in an instant. He suddenly didn't care that he was an eight foot-tall living monster with fur and fangs, for that _something_ in his chest couldn't let him just stand there and watch as she wept.

At the contact, Belle stiffened for a brief moment, but soon his shirt was caught in her fingers, her face buried against him.

He wasn't sure how long they stood there, his mind awash with memories of watching his father's men return empty handed from the woods that took his mother. For him, it had been only days of waiting—Belle had been watching her mother grow ill for years, and still didn't know what would happen.

Adam ran a large thumb across her back, knowing even he couldn't understand what that kind of dreadful uncertainty would feel like. He pulled her closer.

"I-I'm sorry," she said at last through shaky breaths.

"Don't be," he breathed, recalling her own words to him weeks before as she wrapped his bleeding palms. "I'm here to help…remember?"

She pulled back slowly, brushing her fingers across her cheeks before looking up at him with still-wet eyes. In an instant, Adam realized what he had to do.

"You…you must go to them," he rasped, mind screaming at him not to let her leave but heart sure in its decision. He sucked in a breath, and continued. "Sire Gilles can go with you, and perhaps we can pay one of your neighbors to be your escort—"

"I _can't,"_ she whispered miserably. "The pass is covered with snow. Any wagons to the city won't depart until spring. And there's—there's no way a horse could make it through alone…"

So she'd already thought of it. Any relief Adam may have felt was erased in an instant by the terrible distress on her face. They were quiet for a long minute, Belle rubbing her knuckles under her swollen eyes while Adam kept a paw on her shoulder, trying to think of anything he could do.

"Do you think…I could see her again?" she asked at last.

"Of course," he said quickly, before getting an idea. "And if you'd like, Docteur Mathius could look too and maybe…tell you more of what's happening," he offered.

She pursed her lips, nodding slowly. "Yes. All right."

* * *

"Show us Belle's mother," Adam told the mirror quietly, placing it on the small table where the palace physician waited. Beside him, Belle watched anxiously, the corner of her lip now starting to bleed where she'd been chewing it.

The small hospital room appeared in the reflection, and the ear horn leaned over it as he studied the woman in its surface.

"Why are they doing that?" Belle asked suddenly. Adam glanced at the mirror, noticing her mother's arm resting atop a bowl filled with blood dripping slowly from a clean cut in her skin.

"It helps remove the bad blood, mademoiselle," the doctor explained.

"…Oh."

Mathius watched the mirror for several more minutes, and Adam tried not to flinch with each desperate, choking cough that came into the room from the enchanted object. "Show me her charts, please," the doctor instructed further, and the mirror obeyed. He was silent for a long time as he read, before the image vanished and he looked back up at them. Given the doctor's form, Adam couldn't read his expression.

"Well?" he asked quietly.

"She has an advanced stage of consumption," the man explained slowly. "You did well to send her to Paris—they will be able to care for her night and day, and keep her well-nourished and comfortable."

Belle was quiet for a long moment. "…But?" she breathed.

The ear horn sighed. "I'm afraid I have never seen someone recover at this stage. I would advise that you prepare yourself for the worst, my dear."

* * *

It was a quiet night in Paris, yet the sounds of the sick and dying cut through the air in the hospital's cold halls. So busy were the caretakers that no one noticed the mirror in the entryway as it slowly grew in size, or the old woman who stepped through its glass and into the shadows.

Returning the mirror to its original form, the enchantress waited in silence for several long minutes. Soon, a young nurse emerged from a nearby room, a basin of water in hand and a frantic look on her face.

"Please," the witch rasped, feigning weakness and reaching out to her with desperation. "Please, young one, give a tired old woman a place to stay for the night…"

The girl looked startled at first, but a look of compassion soon replaced it. "Oh, Madame, of course," she offered, setting down the basin and hurrying over to the woman's side. The nurse wrapped an arm around her shoulders, holding her hand firmly in hers with the confidence of one skilled in caring for the weak. "I'll need to check with the director," the girl went on, "but it shouldn't be a problem. Here, let's get you somewhere warm."

The nurse led the enchantress to a small parlor, a warm fire burning in the hearth. "Thank you, dear," the witch said as she sat, gripping the girl's hand when she tried to pull away. "You've given me just what I needed."

The nurse smiled warmly, though she seemed a bit surprised at the old woman's firm hold. "Of course, Madame. I'll be back shortly."

The witch released her at last, and the girl stood and rushed out of the room to make the inquiry and continue with her tasks. As soon as the door shut behind her, the witch's skin glowed and her body took on the form of the very nurse who had just left.

She didn't waste a moment. Moving swiftly out of the parlor, the enchantress headed straight for her target. Three flights up and at the end of the hall, and she was there. She pushed open the door, blinking against a dark room.

The man inside didn't even acknowledge her presence. He lay in what looked like a terribly uncomfortable position on the edge of the bed, arms wrapped around its occupant. The woman was clearly on the edge of death, each breath sounding like she was drowning in her own blood. Which, given the condition, she essentially was.

 _Too bad it's the mother, and not the girl,_ the witch thought viciously.

"Back already?" the man said numbly, now sitting up as he finally acknowledged her presence.

"Forgot to check her pulse," she lied, reaching for the patient's hand and squeezing it tight, the other fumbling absently for a beating in the wrist she could really care less about. Instead, she focused on stealing her second form of the night, breathing in deeply as the magic did its work. Unlike her others, this spell did no harm—though the enchantress wondered if killing the woman now wouldn't be more of a blessing than a curse given her condition.

She huffed, pulling away. Like she would waste her stores on the comfort of _this_ woman. The one who'd brought that wretched, arrogant…irritatingly _beautiful_ girl into the world to wreck her plans once again. No, the mother deserved no such mercy.

_"The innocent always deserve mercy, my apprentice."_

The witch stood suddenly, cursing the distant but familiar voice in her head. She'd been rid of her wretched master for years, why couldn't the woman just leave her alone?!

Leaving the man to his dying wife, she rushed out the room and back through the halls. In her irritation, she nearly ran into the very nurse whose form she'd taken. Catching herself at the last moment, she ducked quickly into an empty room.

The witch sighed, pressing her back against the door and breathing heavily. Just as the footsteps in the hall began to fade, she spotted a small metal basin resting on the floor near her feet. The enchantress picked it up slowly, its surface reflecting the moonlight that spilled through the window. When she held it up to her face, a blurry reflection shone back from its surface.

Smiling once again, the pseudo-mirror began to grow in her grasp. _I have what I came for,_ she told herself, reminded of the perfect plan she'd concocted that very night. _And after this…he'll never forgive her._

* * *

Adam was sitting beside one of the couches in the library, a warm fire crackling behind him and casting deep shadows across the dim room. He tugged the soft blanket further over Belle's shoulders, keeping a paw against her back as she lay in a fitful sleep. Beside her lay the mirror, the image of the dark hospital room still glowing from its frame. It had been several days, and for once Belle had put up no resistance to his offer to stay, each waking moment spent watching. Waiting.

Adam reached out with his other hand, carefully pulling Belle's signature lock of loose hair from her eyes before letting his large paw rest against her head. He'd ached for such a closeness with her for weeks now—but he'd never wanted it to be like this.

"Master?" a kind voice whispered from beside him. Adam blinked once, looking down to see Mrs. Potts on the carpet beside him. "Can I get you anything, dear?" she asked gently.

He shook his head. They sat in silence for several long minutes, the last lingering light of day disappearing and immersing the library in darkness.

"Mrs. Potts?" he whispered at last, barely audible over the crackling fire. "Why…why do bad things happen to good people?"

"Oh, love," she said quietly. "That's part of this world we live in, I'm afraid."

"It just—it isn't fair. She doesn't deserve this," he went on, swallowing against the lump forming in his throat.

"I know. And neither did you."

Adam was quiet, the memories of his past replaying in his thoughts as they had been since receiving news of Belle's mother. "I'd…I'd go through it all again, if it would help," he breathed. "I'd do _anything."_ He stopped, grinding his teeth hard against the moisture building in his eyes. "…But I can't," he choked out.

"You can be there for her, dear," Mrs. Potts replied. "We all will. Though I believe you are in a position to help her the most."

Adam nodded slowly, looking back at Belle as she slept. "I'll try."

Belle continued to sleep as the night wore on. Adam stayed awake to watch the mirror, knowing she would want to be woken should anything change. He found sleep evasive as it was, mind a tumble of thoughts and heart in knots.

Eventually, however, he must have dozed off, since he found himself stirred from sleep to the soft light of dawn. Lifting his head from the edge of the couch, he looked up to see Belle's eyes open as she sat staring at the mirror. Adam looked anxiously at the reflection, heart sinking into his stomach at the image. Maurice sat beside the bed, hunched over as a long sheet covered the still body beside him. In place of the terrible choking breaths was an even worse silence.

"Belle…" he breathed, words escaping him as he moved carefully beside her. Instead, he wrapped an arm around her shoulders, aching to fix what couldn't be undone.

She remained quiet, eyes glazed over as she brushed her fingers across the mirror's reflection. A moment later, she set it aside. "I'd like to go to my room, if that's all right," she whispered.

"O-of course," he agreed, helping her to her feet and keeping a firm arm around her as he held her hand aloft with his other. He slowly guided her through the castle's quiet halls, the typical chatter of servants dulled as if a darkness had fallen over the inhabitants.

As they reached her room, she spoke again. "May I be alone?"

Realizing what she meant, Adam pushed open the door and quietly ordered the living objects to exit the space. They moved past, disappearing in solemnity into the halls as Belle moved inside.

"Will you be all right?" he asked, before biting his lip at the foolishness of such a question, at such a time.

Belle only nodded. "Merci," she replied, before shutting the door behind her. Adam remained in place, staring at the wooden panels, unable to move. Unsure where he would go if he could.

It was what he heard next that broke him. Though clearly stifled through a pillow, his ears easily picked up the aching sobs spilling from the other side of the door. Adam clenched his fists, finally letting his own tears spill into his fur as a greater helplessness than he had ever felt washed over him.

* * *

"And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes…"

Adam sat still as stone on the hard pew, the others as equally silent and somber in the cold chapel. Even Cardinal Marius' words seemed more hushed than normal, quoting several biblical passages that were clearly meant to bring comfort to the current situation. It did little to ease the knots in Adam's chest, however, for all he could think of was the woman still in isolation in the North Wing.

"And there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying…"

It had been nearly two weeks since Soleil's passing, and Belle hadn't yet left her room. In fact, the only assurance he had she was all right was from Mrs. Potts, who had been doing her best to keep her fed and cared for.

"Neither shall there be any more pain…"

The longer the service went, the more tense he became. The words of peace only seemed to make him more frustrated. What good were promises for the future when Belle was hurting so much right now?

He suddenly found himself on his feet, Marius' voice cutting off at once, the servants all looking towards him in surprise. "I…" he started, swallowing hard against the lump in his throat. He couldn't finish, so instead he simply bolted from the room.

Deep within the castle's depths, he finally stopped. He ground his teeth, throwing the side of his fist against the wall.

"Damn it," he swore, not for the first time since it had happened.

_"Damn it, Mathius, why couldn't they make her better?!" he shouted._

_The old physician sat calmly as his master paced the office in an unusual fit of anger. "We have no cure, my lord," he explained. "And very few live once the disease begins its course, be they kings or peasants."_

_"Well, why haven't you all found a cure then?" Adam growled._

_Mathius remained silent; they both knew it a pointless question. Adam finally stopped his pacing, bowing his head in defeat. "…I'm sorry, Mathius," he said in shame._

_"There's no need to apologize, my lord. Such things are never easy to accept."_

_Adam bit his lip. "I just…what was the point?" he asked roughly. "Why did we even send her away if she was just going to die? I should have…perhaps I should have brought them all here. We…we could have taken care of her, and at least then Belle would have been with her mother when she…" he trailed off, swallowing against the lump in his throat._

_"Master, you mustn't blame yourself for things you couldn't have foreseen," the doctor said solemnly. "I'm sure the mademoiselle and her father would have always wondered if there would have been a chance in the city, had they been unable to take the opportunity."_

_Adam nodded. He knew Mathius was right, and he knew it wasn't right to blame himself just as it wasn't right to blame the doctor before him. Still, having_ _**someone** _ _to blame seemed better than chalking it up to random fate._

Adam looked around. He'd wandered into the North Wing, as he had so often done over the last fortnight. Before him stood Belle's doors, and he rested his fingers against their surface, desperate to rush inside and gather her in his arms.

He resisted, however, pulling away and staring at his feet. She would come to him when she was ready.

At least…he hoped she would.

* * *

Belle sat on the edge of her bed, hands resting on her knees as she stared into the darkness. The energy to cry had since been replaced by a strange numbness in her limbs and behind her eyes, though the terrible knot inside remained. It felt like a cruel fist was constantly squeezing her heart, so hard sometimes that she wondered if the organ wouldn't be torn straight from her chest.

She sighed tiredly, still unable to sleep well, glancing absently around the room. A dozen warm blankets sent in by the staff sat in a small heap by the fire. Another pile of books sat beside them that Adam had sent in with Mrs. Potts, though those mostly remained unread. At the window, a beautiful arrangement of holly and laurels from the gardens rested on the ledge.

Her eyes moved towards the bedside table next. Several letters sat on its surface, mainly penned at the request of the others by the old tutor who encased a quill, though one message was simply a pattern of circles in the shape of a heart made by a very concerned little teacup.

Belle felt bad she hadn't been able to thank everyone. She just hadn't found the courage yet to face them. What would they say? …What would _she_ say?

Pursing her lips, her eyes caught another small note, written a couple weeks earlier and sent in atop Anne's tray along with the enchanted mirror. She picked it up.

_Cimetière des Saints-Innocents. Tomorrow, 9 o'clock._

It was in Adam's hand, and she hadn't needed an explanation to know what it meant. She'd watched the small funeral and burial from the mirror in numb silence, wishing more than anything she could be with Papa. He looked worse than she'd ever seen him, and so terribly alone. If only the pass to the city weren't covered with snow, then she could go to him. As it was, she couldn't even write to him until spring.

The tears she'd thought had dried up welled up in her eyes once more. She wondered if she'd ever feel happy again. She swallowed roughly, looking back down at the last line of the short note.

_I'm here when you need me._

Belle bit her lip against the tears now falling down her cheeks, brushing her fingers over the words before setting it aside. Laying back down, she shut her eyes, desperate to push her thoughts away for a few hours.

The beginnings of a restless sleep had just fallen over her when she caught quiet footsteps echoing off the walls. Pushing herself up on her elbow, Belle stared into the dark room.

"Hello?" she asked anxiously. "Is someone there?"

She heard the footsteps again, accompanied by a large shadow that shifted against the wall.

Belle bolted upright in bed. She felt suddenly stricken with fear, gripping the sheets tightly and holding her breath, a sudden paralysis preventing her from doing anything but waiting in silence for something to happen. And she couldn't stop the words of the old woman's story from rushing into her head.

_While the damsel slept, the Beast crept silently into her chambers…_

She shook her head. _That's absurd,_ she thought in chagrin, though she almost wished it _were_ Adam as her mind conjured up a dozen other frightening possibilities.

Several minutes passed, and all remained still. _That's funny,_ Belle thought at last, relaxing a little. _I'm sure there was someone—_

She gasped as a figure finally emerged, its frame was much smaller than the shadows suggested. The face was shadowed, but they soon pulled back a thick hood.

Belle's heart flew into her throat. "…Maman?" she choked out.

The woman nodded. Belle bolted from the bed, throwing herself into her mother's arms, unable to hold back fresh tears as the woman returned the embrace.

 _I must be dreaming,_ Belle realized absently, though she pushed the thought aside, desperate to keep her mother close as long as she could.

She wasn't sure how much time passed before she finally pulled back. To Belle's shock, they no longer stood in the Gold Room, but in a bright, beautiful garden.

"Where are we?" she breathed. "Is…is this heaven?"

Her mother only smiled, though she didn't meet her eyes as she cast her gaze across the landscape. "Come. I have something to show you," she spoke, taking Belle's hand and guiding her down the garden path. Belle grasped the hand back tightly, desperate not to let her slip away.

They wove through several long, interconnected paths. Though the sun was strong overhead, Belle shivered, her bare feet cold against the stone below. It seems she'd grown used to the comfort of her private hearth and the thick, warm bedding over the last couple weeks.

They soon reached an end to the path, passing through an archway that led to a bush settled in the corner of an open courtyard. A single flower grew from its top, more stunning than anything they had encountered on their way.

"A rose?" Belle asked quietly, looking back at her mother. The woman smiled again, nodding back towards the bush. Belle followed her gaze. "It's…it's beautiful," she admitted.

"It's a gift," her mother said softly. "Go on, take it."

Belle nodded with some confusion, reaching towards the delicate flower. She stopped, however, at the sight of the sharp thorns along its stem, curling her fingers back in hesitation.

"Don't worry, it won't hurt," her mother went on in earnest.

Belle bit her lip, but obeyed. Just before her fingers graced the tender stem, however, a strong hand grabbed her arm, tugging her back. Maman was gone in an instant, the gardens were vanishing, and a strange glass case fell over the rose before her, now glowing against a dark room.

"Maman?" Belle cried in shock, eyes scanning the new surroundings in desperation. "M-Maman, where are you?!"

"Belle," a deep voice spoke, the force that had stopped her hand now holding her tight. She gasped for breath, a terrible dread falling over her as she slowly returned to reality. _So it_ _ **was**_ _a dream,_ she realized, fresh grief overwhelming her. Belle realized she was shaking, and clung to the soft warmth that surrounded her.

"Belle," the voice repeated. She pulled back, looking up into familiar blue eyes that stared at her from the darkness.

"Adam?" she asked. He was crouched down, arms still resting loosely around her. Belle noticed he was shirtless, and she suddenly realized what that soft warmth must have been. "Where…where are we?" she asked.

She couldn't read the expression on his face as he spoke. "…My room."

"O-oh," she breathed, suddenly aware she was wearing nothing but her chemise. Any embarrassment she felt, however, was quickly erased by the confusion of everything that had happened. She looked back at the rose, the only thing that hadn't disappeared with her dream. She didn't know what it was, or why it was here, but something told her she had almost made a huge mistake.

"I'm so sorry, I didn't know…" she rasped. The dark room itself now seemed to be disappear as her vision grew blurry. "I thought I was in a garden…I-I thought I was with Maman…"

"It's okay," he whispered. She felt a heavy fabric falling over her shoulders as Adam wrapped her in one of his robes. "It's okay, Belle."

"She was here…I…I thought she was here," she said desperately, throat growing tight with grief. "But she's gone. Oh, Adam, she's really gone…"

He was holding her again, and Belle snaked her arms around his neck, hiding her face in his soft fur. She felt the sobs building in her chest, breath shaky and irregular as she tried to tame them.

"You can cry," Adam said gently. She felt his fingers brush over her hair. "No one will hear but me."

Unable to hold it back any longer, Belle nodded and let forth a small cry, which soon dissolved into ugly sobs. She let his neck dampen the sound, his fur soak up her tears as she gave in to her body's demand to weep. His fingers continued to run over her head, then slowly worked their way into her hair. It was soothing, and Belle soon quieted, letting herself be comforted in a way she hadn't realized she'd needed.

"Here," Adam offered several minutes later. He picked her up carefully, cradling her against him before standing and heading towards the door. "Let's get you back to your room—"

"N-not yet," Belle whispered, suddenly desperate not to be alone again.

He paused in his tracks, hesitating a long moment. She felt his heart thump several times beneath his chest before he turned around, padding slowly towards his large bed. She soon felt herself tucked into the sheets, robe and all.

"Try to sleep," Adam breathed, resting his paw against her side where she lay. "I…I'll stay right here, if you want."

Belle nodded tiredly, exhaustion flooding over her. Yet at the same time, the knot in her chest seemed to finally loosen, if just a little.

* * *

Adam sat beside his bed. Belle had fallen asleep quickly, and he'd soon dragged the fireplace rug over so he could stay beside her. However, he knew he wouldn't be sleeping well that night.

He looked over at the corner table, the soft pink glow taunting him from the glass case. _That was too close,_ he thought, chewing his lip as he looked back over at Belle's sleeping form.

_"I'm so sorry, I didn't know…I thought I was in a garden…I-I thought I was with Maman…"_

He believed her. And it wasn't what she'd almost done that was bothering him, nor even her grief, though of course the latter still hurt.

No, what troubled him now was the way he'd found her, standing in her white gown in the dead of night, unaware of his presence and obeying some unseen order. It was so similar— _too_ similar—to another woman from his memories, standing in a doorway, speaking to the empty air before stepping into the storm and disappearing from his life forever.

His mother had been ill, seeing things she shouldn't have been. He was starting to worry he had inherited her sickness too, though he hadn't seen anyone strange since the old woman appeared in the mirror. But now…had Belle been seeing them too? Could…could this possibly be related?

 _I'm jumping to conclusions,_ he realized. Belle had just lost her mother, after all—it made sense she would dream of her. Even the sleepwalking wasn't entirely unexpected, not given everything that had happened. No, he was simply overreacting, as he always did. Just like when she'd first started coming, when he'd been so terrified that she would encounter the forest's wolves.

 _You can't compare everything to what happened to Maman,_ he told himself sternly, finally laying down on the rug and closing his eyes.

 _Still,_ a voice in the back of his mind replied, _I won't take any chances._

* * *

With a flash a light, Soleil's form emerged from a mirror into a lavish room. Several dozen more mirrors lined the walls, surrounding a grand vanity where she promptly sat, smiling at her reflection and gloating in her victory. While it would have been simpler to curse the young woman directly, playing with her perceptions was certainly amusing in its own right. Still, that night's spells had taken a toll on her.

 _No matter,_ she told herself. Her little game was sure to do the trick.

Anxious to see its outcome, she quickly touched the surface of the mirror with the tip of one finger. Its surface dissolved into a scene of her Beast, holding a woman against him.

 _"What?"_ the enchantress rasped, nose wrinkling at the sight. She continued to watch in disbelief, the girl's pathetic sobs grinding her to the core. Unable to take it any longer, the witch sucked in a deep breath and let forth a scream of fury.

 _"Does he realize what she could have_ _ **done?!"**_ she shrieked, grabbing a brush resting on the tabletop and flinging it full force at the glass before her. The mirror shattered into a dozen pieces, the vision disappearing along with them.

She stood furiously, grinding her teeth as she paced her chambers. "He was supposed to send her away, not _comfort_ the wretched girl!" she fumed.

_"You can't assume others will react as you would, Circe."_

The enchantress clenched her fists. Sometimes she wished her magic could erase the memories of her old master, but of course that wasn't possible—or at least, she didn't _think_ it was possible. If only she'd been able to complete her training, but her master had become far too much of a nuisance before such was possible. She'd had no choice but to seal her away.

Taking a deep breath, the witch ran a hand over her hair, managing to calm herself before casting her fingertips towards the broken glass and returning the mirror to normal.

 _No loss,_ she convinced herself. As much as she'd wanted the young prince to abandon the girl himself, she realized she may have to take a more direct approach with him. After all, she still had her trump card left. A few more weeks, and she should have plenty of magic built up to make it work. The Beast thought he had months left—she'd told him so herself, after all. Certainly he wouldn't be rushing into any confessions of love just yet.

 _Yes, this will work,_ she thought with new triumph. _I'll simply play into his desires._ He was only a man, after all.

And deep down, all men wanted the same thing.

* * *

Adam woke to a quiet tapping at his door. He looked up, disoriented at first before remembering he was now beside the bed. Peeking over the edge, he saw Belle curled up within the covers, his robe pulled up to her chin, still sound asleep even as late morning sunlight spilled over them.

He let himself watch her for a moment, his heart swelling with that now-familiar feeling that somehow grew deeper each day. He knew what it was, though he was afraid to admit it just yet. Afraid of the ache that would inevitably come should she never feel it back.

Belle curled closer in on herself, sighing in her sleep. Adam had a sudden desire to crawl into the blankets beside her, to hold her against him and breathe in her sweet smell and run his fingers through her hair like he had the night before.

A second knock broke through his thoughts. He shook his head roughly, standing and padding silently towards the door.

"Good morning," Mrs. Potts said pleasantly as he pulled it open. "Just looking for Belle. She's here, is she not?"

"I—th-that is, um," Adam stammered. He bit his lip hard, before going on seriously. "Mrs. Potts, it's not what it looks like…"

The teapot smiled. "No need to worry dear, I know you better than that. I only assumed once she was ready to emerge, she would come to you first."

"Oh," he said dumbly. He was about to explain what had really happened, but suddenly wondered if Belle would be embarrassed by it. Instead, he moved into the hall and shut the door behind him. "She's, um, still asleep," he explained.

"Oh good, poor thing hasn't had a decent night's sleep in a fortnight. We'll let her rest then. In the meantime, let's get some breakfast in you, and perhaps we can bring some up once she rises."

Adam nodded, following for a couple paces before stopping in place. "Actually, I…I promised I wouldn't leave," he recalled.

"Well then, best you stay put," Mrs. Potts said, unfazed. "We'll bring up a couple trays in an hour or so."

"Thank you, Mrs. Potts," he said turning back to the door. He paused, glancing nervously towards Anne then across the quiet hall in search of any eavesdroppers.

"Don't fret, love. It'll be our little secret," Mrs. Potts winked, as though reading his thoughts.

Adam felt his cheeks burning, though Mrs. Potts and Anne only chuckled to themselves as they rolled away.

* * *

"Let's go, boy."

Max lifted his head off his front paws from where he lay beside the kitchen hearth, standing and heading obediently towards the back door.

"Not outside today," Adam went on, moving up the stairs towards the main level. Max followed, then stopped at the foot of the stairs, cocking his head in question.

"You can come up," he went on, both amused and impressed at how well-trained the dog was. "Come on, you want to see Belle, don't you?"

Max wagged his tail excitedly at the sound of her name, bounding up the steps behind Adam and entering the grand halls for the first time.

"Master!" someone cried in shock. Adam looked over, noticing Cogsworth standing along the rug, pointing a gold, accusatory arm in their direction. "What is—what is that _animal_ doing in the castle?"

Adam nearly noted that a beast had already been roaming the halls for years, but decided to keep it to himself. "I've got a job for him," he shrugged, continuing down the long corridor with Max at his heels.

"B-b-but—my _lord,_ we've only just polished the floors and—"

Adam ignored him, leading Max up a few flights of stairs and into the North Wing, where Belle was comfortably settled back in her own room for the night. Just as they reached her door, he crouched down to the dog's level.

"You're going to take good care of Belle tonight, okay?" he directed. He glanced around, but the halls were silent. Still, he lowered his voice before going on. "Stay alert…and keep your ears open."

At that, Max sat up a little straighter, pointed ears on end, before panting happily.

"Exactly," Adam sighed in satisfaction, giving the animal a good rub behind the ears before standing and knocking quietly at the door.

"Come in," Belle answered.

He opened the door a few inches, peeking inside. She was sitting amidst a pile of blankets near the hearth, clothed in one of her own-sized robes, looking up from a book in her hands. She seemed relieved to see him, though maybe that was his imagination.

"You have a visitor," Adam said, smiling a bit.

Belle furrowed her brows in confusion, but her expression turned to one of joy as Max ran inside and nearly knocked her onto her back. After a minute of the ensuing licks and cuddles, Max finally calmed down, settling against her side and resting his head in her lap.

 _"Thank you,"_ Belle said earnestly as Adam sat carefully beside them. She was smiling, but she almost looked like she might start crying again at any second.

Adam reached out, resting a paw on her opposite shoulder. "I'm sorry I didn't think to bring him up sooner," he said with regret.

"I could have gone down. I just…" She trailed off, staring into her lap.

"Wasn't ready to see anyone?"

Belle nodded, before taking a deep breath. "Maybe…maybe tomorrow," she decided.

"I'll come by in the morning, and we can go down together," he offered.

There was no mistaking her relief at that. Suddenly, Adam felt her arms wrap around him as far as they could reach. "I don't…I don't think I could make it through this without you," she whispered against him.

Adam returned the embrace in an instant. "You could," he told her. He swallowed roughly, but went on. "You're…you're strong, and brave. But…I'm glad to help a little, anyway."

Belle seemed to hug him tighter at that, and Adam couldn't recall anything ever feeling so…right. He rested his cheek against her head, hoping she felt as much comfort from this as he did.

After a few moments, she pulled away, tucking that wavy lock of hair behind her ear. "So, um…what is that rose, anyway?" she asked.

The corner of Adam's mouth tugged up at that, glad to see Belle's innate curiosity wasn't gone. "Well, it determines how long—" He quickly choked on his words, throat closing up for a long moment. " _Ugh._ That is _really_ annoying," he huffed once he regained his voice.

Belle looked deep in thought for a moment, before raising a brow. "So you don't just like flowers?" she asked wryly.

Normally he'd have made a face, but Adam was so relieved to see a bit of Belle's old self coming back that he only grinned. "No. I don't just like flowers," he chuckled.

At that, they heard another knock, and Mrs. Potts wheeled in through the half-open door. "Sorry to bother you, loves, just thought Belle might want her tea now."

"I think I'll be able to sleep without it tonight, Mrs. Potts," Belle replied warmly.

"Oh, well that's good to hear. Though there is another thing," Mrs. Potts went on, but before she could finish, Chip peaked out from behind her and hopped straight into Belle's lap. Even in her surprise, she managed to catch him, cradling the boy in the palms of her hands.

"Belle, I missed you. Are you okay?" he asked anxiously.

"Sorry, dear," his grandmother said, sighing. "I couldn't convince him to wait any longer."

"It's okay," Belle said, looking back down at the little cup. "I'm…all right, Chip. Thank you for the sweet painting."

Chip only fidgeted nervously in her palms, looking back at Adam for a moment before speaking again. "Master told me you lost your Maman, like him…and like me."

 _"Jack,"_ Mrs. Potts whispered nervously from behind them.

Belle only stared at him, breathing shallowly. "Yes…that's right."

The little cup sagged in place. "I'm sorry, Belle," he said sadly, leaning gently against her cupped fingers. "…I love you."

"Oh Chip, I love you too," she said, lifting the child up to kiss his porcelain rim.

Mrs. Potts and Anne made soft noises behind them, clearly touched by the sweet scene. Yet Adam, for his part, just sat in a stupor. _I am_ _ **not**_ _jealous of a ten year-old,_ he told himself sternly.

As the others began to leave, his thoughts grew more serious. _Could it really be so easy to say those three words to her?_ he started to wonder.

He shook his head quickly. Clearly they had a different meaning coming from a child than they would from him. Besides, after everything that had happened, it didn't feel right to take advantage of her raw emotions by bringing something like _that_ up so soon.

Distracted, he hadn't noticed the others leave or Belle moving across the room until she came back beside him, holding out a large bundle. "Here," she said, and he noticed the familiar fabric of the robe he'd wrapped around her the night before. "Thank you for, um…letting me borrow it," she said, cheeks turning a bit pink at the memory.

"Keep it, I've got another," Adam said warmly, looking around where they sat and smiling. "You can add it to your blanket nest."

She glanced at the soft fabrics around her and flushed a bit more, even as she pressed the robe back against her chest.

"I'll see you in the morning," he went on, having little desire to leave but noticing the tired look in her eyes.

She nodded gratefully. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight."

Adam stood, moving towards the open door. Just before shutting it, however, he glanced back into the room. She had unfolded the giant robe, and he watched as she pulled it around her shoulders, leaning into Max and staring into the fire.

He felt his chest swell with warmth once again. Maybe he couldn't say the words aloud, but he could no longer deny them.

 _Goodnight, Belle,_ he thought. … _I love you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this was a really sad chapter, and I could probably write three more just explaining all the reasons/thoughts/experiences that went into it, but I’ll just leave you with Mrs. Pott’s words: It’ll turn out all right in the end. You’ll see.


	12. Chapter 11

"Haven't seen you for a while. Thought you'd left for good," the shopkeeper commented, wrapping the meat Belle had purchased for her and Max's supper that night.

"My, um… _employer_ has been giving me lodging because of…the snow," Belle fibbed, anxious to finish her errands and escape into the peace and solitude of her home. Though the weeks of rest had given her space to heal, and the recent task of cleaning a dusty, abandoned house something to occupy her mind, she still fought to keep her feelings at bay in public. It made it worse that no one in the village knew of her mother's death, but of course without explaining the mirror's power she had no plausible explanation for knowing herself.

 _I miss them already,_ she thought absently, thinking of the castle and its inhabitants who she'd left but a day prior to check on her home. … _I miss **him.**_

She'd been too preoccupied with her grief to think of it, but it turned out Adam had been keeping watch over her home through the mirror during her span of solitude. He also discovered that her father planned to remain in Paris until spring, given the heavy snows that lined the mountain paths. Belle's chest grew tight at the thought of Papa, all alone in his grief. She squeezed her eyes shut, willing the moisture away as she stood among the loud, oblivious crowds. Wishing her closest friend could somehow appear and whisk her away to a safe, warm library.

"Belle! My, how I've missed that pretty face."

Belle nearly groaned aloud. _Fate must have a cruel sense of humor,_ she thought, sucking in a deep breath before turning to face the man behind her. "…Bonjour, Gaston."

"Belle, you must be so glad to see me! It's been what? A week?"

"About a month, I believe," she deadpanned.

"A month! No, no, it couldn't be. I'd have noticed."

"…Of course. My mistake," Belle said dryly. _Because I'm obviously the one confused about how I spend my own time,_ she scathed inwardly, not even bothering with the eye roll he deserved.

"Well, you missed my latest kill," he went on, clearly with no intention to inquire _where_ she had been for so long. Not that Belle was surprised—for all his attentions, he rarely inquired after her personal life, not to mention her interests. Though she was a little disappointed he hadn't given up on her after his latest coercion attempt failed.

"You should've seen it, Belle—the most enormous bear I've ever laid eyes on!" he exclaimed, gripping her shoulder with a rough hand and guiding her across the street. "Made the old girl into a rug, in fact—" At that, he pushed through the swinging doors to the bar and pulled her inside. Belle would have normally put up more of a fight to his efforts, but in her current state she had little energy to do so.

Inside his father's tavern, a few of the town's most pathetic occupants sat, completed inebriated despite the early hour. Belle looked absently where Gaston pointed, noticing the thick, brown rug lying before the hearth. The man tugged her across the room, and as they moved close she realized the bear's form had been kept. It was all there—the head, the tail, the paws—

She gasped at the latter, the animal's hands reminding her so much of another's. She felt Gaston's fingers gripping her shoulders roughly, in such contrast to Adam's gentle, comforting touch. Belle stared down at the dead creature at their feet, heart racing in a sudden, terrible horror.

She felt herself shaking, trying to pull away. Trying not to imagine what Gaston would attempt should he ever discover her dearest friend.

"What's the matter?" Gaston asked. He didn't sound concerned so much as upset that she wasn't exclaiming her adoration for his great skill.

"N-nothing," she whispered. "I…I need to return home."

Gaston huffed in irritation. "Isn't your mother better yet?"

Belle gasped in grief, biting her lip hard before slipping quickly past him and racing out into the streets.

"As crazy as 'er ol' man," the bartender said with a gruff voice once she left. "Don' know why yer so keen on havin' 'er. If ya don mind me sayin', sir."

Gaston's pout at Belle's departure quickly faded. "She's the only one I _haven't_ had," he explained with a wicked grin. "At least, of the one's worth having."

The tavern's few occupants chuckled sickly, and Gaston crossed his arms over his chest in triumph.

"Still," the bartender went on with a smirk. "Sure seems mer trouble than she's worth."

Gaston only smiled further. "That's the best part. You see…I always do enjoy the hunt."

* * *

_"Excellent shot, my lord!"_

_The fifteen year-old master smiled with pride, swinging the animate gun across his back and racing off into the brush to track down the deer. He spotted the trail of blood quickly, following it to the open clearing where it led. The animal lay still in the dry grass, and Adam grimaced for a moment before shaking his head. He had to eat, after all._

_He was about to step into the open when he heard loud, heavy footfalls against the dry earth. Adam froze in place, heart racing as the noise grew closer._

_"Oi! Anyone there?" a voice called out. It was deep, but had the cadence of someone but a few years his senior._

Another hunter?! _Adam realized in shock. He peaked around the tree he was hiding behind, eyes growing wide at the man walking into the open._

_He was enormous. His muscles bulged through his clothes from shoulders to calves. His feet were encased in thick boots that were surprisingly quiet against the earth given the man's size. He carried a single bow in his hands and a quiver of arrows against his back, black hair swept into a neat ponytail that revealed a deep cleft in his chin._

_Adam felt a small nudge against his back as Fabien leaned close to his ear. "Perhaps he has a sister," the old gun whispered wryly._

_Whether Fabien was joking or not, he had a point. In nearly five years, no one had yet been seen within the palace grounds. Adam had no idea how the enchantress expected him to break this curse when she not only made him completely undesirable to the opposite sex, but trapped him here so he couldn't meet one of them should he want to._

_In fact, he was starting to wonder if she even meant for him to break it at all._

_"Hey, you want your kill or not?" the hunter asked irritably, breaking him from his thoughts._

Should I talk to him? _Adam wondered nervously, staring back out at the giant man—while the young beast was already well over six feet tall, he was still fairly lean throughout his limbs and torso. This man could have easily been twice his weight._

_A fang dug into Adam's upper lip as he thought. It had been five years…five years without seeing a human._

I have to talk to him, _he realized._ This could be our only chance.

_Turning back to the clearing, he was about to call out, but the stranger was gone. Heart in his throat, Adam ran out from where he hid, desperate not to lose his only chance at freedom._

_The moment he stepped into the clearing, however, an arrow flew mere inches past his face._

_Adam cried out, spinning around in search of the hunter. Before he could react, another arrow flew from the dark canopy above, lodging itself in his thigh. He let out a terrible howl of pain before collapsing to his other knee. Vision growing blurry, his own heavy breathing was the only thing he could hear as it echoed in his skull._

_"St-stop!" he managed through the pain, eyes searching the treetops above for his attacker. "Please!"_

_"…It talks?" a voice rasped from the distance, and Adam finally caught sight of movement in the trees above. The young man climbed down quickly, crouching skillfully on one of the lower branches, bow still in hand. "This forest really is cursed, then," he stated._

_"Please," Adam repeated, holding the arrow lodged in his flesh, blood dripping over his fingers as he swallowed back his nausea. "I won't attack. I—I'm a person, like you."_

_The man looked him over in amusement. "A person?" he mocked, a sick smile creeping over his face. "You're a monster."_

_Adam felt his heart sink in his chest. "But I'm…I'm still—"_

_To his shock, the young man laughed roughly. "What'd you do, kill a man and steal his clothes and that gun across your back?"_

_"W-what?" Adam stammered in horror. "No! These are mine—"_

_"Pretending to be a man isn't going to make you one." The young hunter jumped to the ground, pulling a long knife from his boot as he moved closer. Eyes growing wide, Adam tried to stand, but his leg proved completely useless._

_"No, you're nothing but a beast," the man went on darkly, licking his lips as his knife reflected the midday sun. "And I bet bringing back **your** head will make me the greatest hunter in all of—"_

_Before he could finish, Adam felt a tug across his back and a loud gunshot ringing in his ears. Fabien had propped himself atop his shoulder, smoke spilling from his end. "Missed him," the older man huffed in irritation._

_Adam turned back towards where the hunter had stood. The man was crouched over on the ground, but soon whipped his head back, eyes blazing in fury._

_"Come, my lord!" Fabien whispered harshly. "You still have three working limbs, have you not?"_

_Adam nodded quickly, rolling over and pushing himself onto his paws before bolting as quickly as he could into the dark woods. The young man's angry yells could be heard behind him, but he didn't dare look back._

_Several miles into the forest, Adam finally slowed. "Can you see him?" he panted, the pain in his leg manifesting once again as he turned back to stare into the trees behind them._

_"No," the gun said firmly. "I think we've lost him. Even injured, you make quick headway, my lord."_

_Adam nodded slowly, still unwilling to take any chances. He stared at his thigh, realizing the blood had soaked through his entire pant leg. "I'm bleeding," he said dumbly, before shaking his head. "I-I mean, I probably left a trail."_

_"Even if not, the man could probably find us from your tracks alone," the gun went on, humming to himself as he thought. "I would advise we head towards the brook eastwards. If you wade upstream until the point of the mount, it should erase the trail enough to then head safely towards the palace."_

_Adam reached towards the arrow's shaft still in his leg, snapping it at the center and leaving the rest wedged in his flesh. He knew better than to try and pull it out on his own. "All right," he agreed. "Let's go."_

* * *

_"Master, where have you— **What happened?!"** _

_Adam pushed open the front doors with a heavy paw, dragging himself inside and collapsing on the cold floor. Trekking through the stream on three limbs had proved much more arduous than he'd anticipated, and the rushing water seemed to pull extra blood from the wound as it rushed against him. But at least he'd made it back._

_He was only partially aware of the growing number of frantic voices as exhaustion flooded over him._

_"Oh my heavens!"_

_"My lord!"_

_"What happened to him?!"_

_"He was shot—arrow to the thigh," Fabien's voice echoed from behind him. "Poor lad had to circle all the way back from the western boundary—"_

_"Shot? By who?!"_

_"Someone send for the doctor!"_

_"Here, I'm here."_

_Adam opened one eye to see Docteur Mathius being set beside his leg by one of the tall coatracks, a few dozen other servants gathered around and clearly in a panic._

_"Everyone, I'm…I'm fine," Adam said slowly. He felt perfectly calm, though his voice sounded strange and heavy in his ears._

_"The boy's in shock," Mathius said straightly. "Someone find a chair, we need to lift up his legs—" Before he could finish, a living armchair had pushed his way through the crowd and offered himself up._

_"Good, now cover him with a blanket, and we'll need plenty of thick bandages, and something to tie off that leg. Oh, and strong drink…"_

_Adam wasn't sure how much time passed when he felt someone pulling him into a sitting position. "Here, young master. Drink this." It was Sophie, her cool metal body propping him into her lap._

_"What is it?" Adam asked groggily._

_"…It's whisky, my lord. Please, take it."_

_"But Mrs. Potts…Mrs. Potts says I'm not supposed to drink that…"_

_"It's all right, love," the teapot's voice echoed from somewhere nearby. "Just…just this once is okay."_

_Confused, he obeyed. "Ugh," he shuddered as the bitter drink slid down his throat. "That's gross."_

_"Sophie, I need you now," the doctor's voice called out. "We need to get this out immediately. It's been in too long already." Adam soon felt something being wrapped around his leg above the pain, tightening quickly before Mathius spoke out again, louder this time as he called attention to all around. "Anyone fragile needs to leave. He might thrash out."_

_Adam furrowed his brows as several objects clinked off across the hard floors._ Why would I thrash— _His thoughts were cut off by a terrible tearing sensation in his leg._

_He roared in pain. "THAT HURTS!"_

_"I-I'm sorry, Master," Sophie whispered. Adam managed to open his eyes again, looking down to see her metal hand coated in blood and wrapped around the arrow's shaft, ready to tug again._

_"No…wait…I'm not ready," he said in fear, trying to pull away. In response, his arms were quickly restrained by two of the coat rack footmen._

_"My apologies, my lord," one of them said quietly._

_The other nodded, holding him firmly in place. "It'll be over soon, Master."_

* * *

_Adam never did recall whether the alcohol or the blood loss kicked in first. All he remembered was blacking out soon afterwards and waking up on one of the parlor sofas with a thick bandage around his leg. He stayed there for a week, before he gained back enough strength that the footman could help him hobble back to the West Wing. Mathius said it was a miracle the leg didn't get infected._

_After that, it took several more weeks before Adam could walk again, but he had little desire to venture into the woods anytime soon as it was. Instead, he found himself checking the enchanted mirror at an unhealthy rate for any sign of the hunter's return, but the forest remained as human-free as it always had. In the meantime, he asked the servants to take down all his predecessors' hunting trophies from the walls, and even once he could walk again was seen less and less often leaving his chambers._

_"Master?" Mrs. Potts asked one evening, venturing to check on the teenaged beast after not having seen him since the night before. "Won't you come down for some supper? Chef Bouche has made you some venison ragu—one of your favorites."_

_Adam sat up slowly from his bed, shaking his head in reply. "I'm not hungry, Mrs. Potts."_

_"But…you must eat," she said anxiously, noticing the way his fur had started to sag around his cheeks, the pale look in his eyes. Mrs. Potts knew that look—the look of someone malnourished._

_"I guess I'll take something," he conceded. "But not the venison, please."_

_"But…you're growing sick," she said carefully. "You must eat some meat, dear, or I'm quite afraid we'll lose you."_

_He only shook his head again, closing his eyes._

_Mrs. Potts was quiet for a long moment. "Won't you tell me what's wrong, love?"_

_He rubbed the front of his neck subconsciously, staring at his feet. "It's just…it's that hunter. He wanted to hang my head on his wall," he rasped, finally looking up at the woman with quaking eyes. "Like…like an animal. Even after I spoke with him, told him I wasn't a…" He stopped, swallowing roughly. "Well, maybe he was right. I am a monster…aren't I?"_

_"No, no," she assured him. "You're still you, on the inside—"_

_"But how—" he interrupted, face contorting in pain. "How can I ever hope to break this curse if this is all they see?" he asked. Before she could respond, he continued. "I felt the fear of being hunted, Mrs. Potts. I just…I don't think I can hunt anymore. It makes me sick just thinking about it."_

_She frowned sadly. "I understand. But maybe you can try a little dinner tonight—Bouche will be quite distraught should his supper go to waste. Then we'll take things from there one step at a time, all right?"_

_He was quiet for a moment, but finally nodded. "Okay, I'll try a little. I…I am feeling pretty terrible, to be honest." He looked back down at his arms. "I guess this body can't survive off bread and vegetables alone."_

_"It seems not. Count your blessings though, love—I haven't had a taste of anything in years."_

* * *

Adam watched the deer fall in the distance, the gun's blast still ringing in his ears.

"Excellent shot, my lord."

"Mmm," Adam hummed indifferently, swinging Fabien across his back as he padded into the forest to retrieve the fallen animal. He stared at it for a long moment from the shadows, a dull sickness in his stomach that came with the grim understanding of what it was like to be one of the hunted.

Despite his fears at the time, neither that man nor any other hunter had ventured into his woods since that frightening day, though he continued to monitor it by use of the enchanted mirror. Today, like all those days since, the woods were clear of intruders and he took the opportunity to replenish their supply while Belle was gone.

Adam rubbed subconsciously at the old wound in his leg. He was only now starting to realize how much of a turning point the experience had been. He wondered if it wasn't the reason he'd nearly lost all hope of ever breaking the curse. The first human he'd seen since his change—and the man had tried to kill him. But almost worse than that…he'd called him a monster. And Adam had let himself believe it.

_"I don't believe being human is the same as being humane."_

Adam smiled. Not a week of knowing him, and Belle had offered up those words. _God, she's so wonderful,_ he thought warmly.

Fabien cleared his throat. "My lord…"

"Ah, sorry," Adam said, moving towards the kill in the clearing. He picked it up easily in one paw and fell upon his other, moving quickly back to the palace on three limbs and letting his thoughts return to the woman who'd left but a couple days earlier.

A sharp bark in the distance woke him from his thoughts, and he looked up quickly to see Belle herself watching him from atop Philippe as Max ran off the trail towards him.

"Adam?" Belle called out cautiously, and he realized it might be difficult for her to recognize him in the trees' heavy shadows.

He stood quickly, giving a short wave. "It's me."

She looked relieved, but there was still a strange look in her eyes as he moved closer. Adam worried for a moment it was fear, but further examination revealed something more akin to concern. He couldn't imagine why, though. "I'm sorry. I—I didn't expect you today," he explained quickly, embarrassed by the dead animal he carried that he was now forced to throw over his shoulder to avoid Max's eager jowls.

"No—no _I'm_ sorry," she said, cheeks a bit pink. Though that could have easily been from the cold. "I returned earlier than I planned," she explained, glancing back in the direction she'd come before looking back at him. "I suppose…I missed you."

Adam's heart stopped in his chest, eyes growing wide in surprise.

"All of you! I missed _all_ of you," she backtracked quickly, clearly flushing now. "I've gotten used to you all, it seems," she finished quietly, staring pointedly into her lap.

The old weapon against Adam's back gave him a sharp nudge. "W-we missed you too," he stammered, wishing they weren't in the presence of the living gun or Sire Gilles on her hip. Not to mention Max barking at a deer carcass.

They both looked away, silent for a long moment before Adam finally got his wits about him and reached for Philippe's reins to guide him back.

"Do you…like to hunt?" Belle asked after a few minutes.

"No," he answered bluntly. "I hate it, actually."

Adam couldn't quite make out her expression at that, but she seemed almost…relieved. "I'm sorry," she offered. "Perhaps…well, have you ever tried hunting fowl? Papa told me he prefers it."

"Not for a long time," Adam admitted. "To be honest, I don't like to waste the bullets on it. A deer just brings in a lot more meat at once, and we're running low on ammunition as it is."

Belle's mouth formed a small 'o' in understanding, before she smiled. "Adam," she said slowly. "You realize I could just go buy some more for you in town, right?"

Adam blinked twice as he registered her words. "…You could?" he finally breathed. He felt himself smiling too. "I mean, of course you could, I just…I can't believe I didn't think of that!"

Belle seemed amused by his enthusiasm.

"Sorry," he said sheepishly. "It's just, I was getting worried I'd have to starting hunting with my—" He stopped, staring at his claws.

_"You may find some animal-like tendencies tend to increase over the years."_

The witch's words always seemed to linger in the back of his mind. He realized he'd been doing everything in his power to prevent them from becoming true, but he still worried his efforts might be in vain in the end. What if he had to sink his bare claws…his _fangs,_ into a deer's flesh? Would doing so finally awaken the beast inside?

He shuddered at the thought.

"Don't worry, you won't have to," Belle was saying, breaking through his thoughts. He looked over at where she sat in the saddle, her eyes full of understanding even though he hadn't said anything.

 _How is she so perfect_? he wondered.

"Now that I think of it," Belle went on, "there are probably plenty of items we're running low on. Perhaps I'll make a trip into Beaumont to restock—I believe it's actually closer to here than Molyneaux, so it shouldn't be any trouble." Her spirits seemed to be growing by the minute. "In fact, now that you have me, you all shouldn't have to worry about supplies ever again!" she said proudly.

Adam's heart stopped at her words. **_Ever_** _again?_ He was no longer thinking about the promised ammunition, but the fact that Belle planned to stick around long enough that he would never go without it. But that…that would mean his entire life.

 _Does Belle still plan to come here after her father returns?_ he wondered. _Does…does she not plan to return to her normal life?_

Adam's heart was now racing, and he glanced back at Belle as they continued down the trail. Given the spell wouldn't let him tell her, she still had no idea he could return to his human form. She must assume he'd be like this forever, always trapped in a hideous body, in his forested cage. Yet she had no intention to abandon him?

 _Maybe I'm misreading this,_ he wondered, but no matter how many ways he thought of what she'd said, it always led to that same conclusion. His chest felt light as a feather, and he somehow loved her even more than he had before.

And, suddenly, he felt ready to ask her something. Something he'd been hoping to ask for a long time now.

* * *

"Belle!" Chip cried, hopping clumsily across the table towards her. "Belle, you're just in time for Christmas!"

"Christmas?" Belle asked in shock, catching the little cup before he tumbled over the edge. "Already?"

Mrs. Potts laughed. "We're still a fortnight away, love," she told her grandson, before looking up at Belle warmly. "I'm afraid someone's quite eager for Papa Noël's visit this year."

"Come see the tree! Master just got it yesterday," Chip went on, urging Belle towards the stairs. She managed another smile, already grateful for the distraction of the castle as they moved up the steps and towards the library.

"Sacre _bleu,"_ Belle breathed as they entered the room. An enormous tree stood before the grand windows, the smell of fresh pines filling the space as a mess of boxes and wrappings laid scattered the across the floor. "How—how in the _world_ did you get that inside?" she asked, staring at Adam in shock as he followed them into the room.

"Master carried it in all by himself!" Chip said excitedly.

Adam placed his hands behind his back and shrugged. "It wasn't so hard," he said, though Belle didn't miss the small smirk that crossed his face as he seemed to flex his arms a bit.

"And _I_ picked it out," Chip went on, mirroring the pride of his master.

Belle nearly laughed at the two of them. "Well, you have an excellent eye for Christmas trees, Chip," she said warmly, feeling a bit more of the aching pain that had grown worse on her trip to town dissolving in their presence.

"Wanna help us decorate it?" the boy went on, not even letting her respond before hopping from her hands onto one of the boxes stacked before them. They watched him push the lid back with some effort before leaping inside.

"You'll be staying for the holidays…won't you?" Adam asked.

Belle looked over, catching familiar, hopeful blue eyes looking down at her. _"Yes,"_ she agreed quickly, too relieved to even offer the polite decline that etiquette required. "To be honest…and perhaps this is presumptuous of me, but I have little desire to return to the village any time soon," she explained, the thought of Gaston and his hunting trophies, the seclusion she'd felt over the couple days she'd spent there overwhelming her.

"Did something happen?" Adam asked anxiously, sensing her distress.

"No. Well, not really," she shrugged, biting her lip for a long moment before going on. "It's only…no one knows about Maman," she admitted, swallowing roughly. "And Gaston is so…" She shook her head. "I was just lonely, I suppose."

"…Then stay," Adam breathed. Belle felt something brush her fingers, looking down to see her hand caught between his large thumb and forefinger. She flushed, looking at his chest as he moved an inch closer. "In fact…I've been thinking."

"Y-yes?" she whispered.

"Well…why don't we pay someone to care for your home?" he asked matter-of-factly. "You mentioned your neighbors could use the income?"

Belle looked up at him, blinking. "Oh! Oh, um…yes, yes they could," she said belatedly, uncertain what she'd expected him to say. She bit her lip, brows furrowing. "But Adam, I still owe you so much—"

"Belle," he said warmly. "We both know that's not why you're here anymore."

She felt her cheeks growing warm, smiling a bit even as she looked away.

He seemed suddenly embarrassed himself, and cleared his throat. "Well, it's settled then," he said quickly. "Your neighbors will check in on your home, and you can return occasionally when you feel the need. But…but perhaps…" He trailed off, rubbing his thumb absently against the back of her hand as he, too, looked away. "Perhaps _this_ can be your home. A-at least, until your father returns."

Belle felt her heart pick up a little. _At least?_ She looked down at their hands, smiling a little at how small hers looked in his. She was still amazed at how someone so large could be so incredibly gentle. She smiled further, gripping his fingers in return. "I…I would like that very much."

He brightened immediately, ears perking up atop his head as he reached for her other hand. Belle bit her lip, trying not to laugh at him, enjoying the feeling of her hands in his and finding herself staring up into his warm eyes.

"Come _on_ you guys!" someone cried. Belle and Adam both started, pulling away and looking over at once to see the little teacup hop out of the box filled with several tiny ornaments. "We're got lots of decorations to hang up!"

Belle chuckled, looking back up at her companion. To her shock, his face had fallen into dismay.

"What's wrong?" she asked in concern.

He looked down at her, sighing. "To be honest, I wasn't thinking about _decorating_ the thing when we decided on such a large tree," he admitted in chagrin. "…It's probably going to take the whole day."

Belle smiled. "It's all right…I don't have anywhere to go."

* * *

Belle seemed to regain more and more of her innate brightness in the days leading up to Christmas. And as promised, she even brought one of their old wagons into Beaumont one morning for supplies. She rode back early that afternoon, heavy wheels grinding along the path, the wagon filled with supplies that the castle hadn't had access to since their own stores grew replete.

"I hope I got everything Chef Bouche wanted," she said nervously, checking over the list in her hands once more as Adam moved beside her. Chip fidgeted in his paws, anxious to take a peek at what Belle had brought, as were some of the older stable boys who rolled along behind him.

"Belle, can we help?" Aimé called out in his still-changing voice, the bucket nudging her ankles excitedly.

"Of course," she said happily. "You can look at everything except the box in the corner."

"W-what's in there, Belle?" Chip asked eagerly.

Belle suddenly had a wicked gleam in her eye. "Well, I met a peculiar stranger on my way back—had a long white beard, if I recall?" she said casually. "Quite a heavy pack, too, plus several huge bundles atop his donkey. I can't _imagine_ what they contained."

Chip looked like he was going to burst from excitement. "You saw Papa Noël?!" he cried.

"Is that who it was?" Belle teased, barely containing her grin. Adam and the other adults nearby chuckled amongst themselves. "Well, I'm not sure, but he told me he had quite a delivery to make and asked if I wouldn't help with some of it."

By now, even the older boys were growing excited. They, of course, knew she was fibbing, but the prospect of presents from outside the castle was suddenly a very real possibility.

Adam and the others helped unload the wagon—well, he basically carried it all, but their efforts were appreciated. Boxes of spices for the chef, barrels of apples for the horses, brown paper and yarn for wrapping, yards of ribbon, spools of thread to repair the curtains in desperate need of mending, brand new tools and nails to replace those long since rusted, bottles of ink and stacks of fresh parchment, bushels of holly and laurels and even a bit of mistletoe that, against his will, made the tips of Adam's ears turn pink.

Setting down another crate, he pulled out one of several dozen bars of soap. "Should I be offended by this?" he asked in jest.

"Oh no, no!" Belle cried, waving her hands in front of her in embarrassment. "I-I just wasn't sure if—I mean, it just seemed like a basic—and the horses, they need—"

She stopped when she noticed Adam's grin, which earned him a very dramatic eye roll.

 _"Anyway,"_ Belle went on, ignoring his chuckles as they headed back towards the wagon. "I was thinking the women could use the ribbon to dress up for the celebration, in a way. And now we can finally fix that gap in the storage barn's door," she went on, growing excited once again. "I can't believe I didn't think of this before! I hope I didn't forget anything, though I suppose I could just go back if we—"

"Belle, this is wonderful," Adam interrupted. And he meant it—it had been a long time since everyone had been so unanimously excited. Well…besides when Belle showed up in the first place.

She smiled a little shyly. "Well, it was your money, after all."

It was true he'd given her more to make the trip. "A lot of good it was doing us sitting here, though," he pressed. "Everyone's is such high spirits…all thanks to you."

Her own ears seemed to redden at that, though it was probably just from the cold. As they neared the wagon for the last time, Adam glanced at the remaining crate in the corner. "So…what _is_ in the box?" he asked casually, though secretly just as interested as the boys.

Belle smirked as if she saw straight through his act, but didn't comment as she climbed into the back of the wagon. Looking around and finding the area bare of prying eyes, she pulled back the cover and attempted to tug off the crate's lid. Adam reached over and pried the nails from the wood with a claw, allowing her to move it aside and reveal several smooth boards resting in hay, each with strange patterns carved into the surface. A few pouches were tucked inside as well, and Belle untied the top of one to produce several small wooden blocks of different stains in Adams paw.

"It's called Conspirateurs—a board game of sorts."

"Like chess?" he asked, turning a few of the pieces over curiously with one claw.

"Sort of, and much simpler. In fact, I managed to beat the seller himself on our second round!"

Adam laughed. He wasn't really surprised.

"I've never seen it before," she went on excitedly. "And could only get it because of the vendors traveling through this time of year. I used to look at their wares each Christmastime, but of course we couldn't afford much of it then," she explained matter-of-factly, pulling a second board from the box. "Here's another—Agon, I believe it was called." She paused. "I was just—I was trying to think of something for Chip especially, where he could play but not worry about getting hurt," she explained, biting her lip. "Hopefully they'll enjoy this."

"It's perfect," Adam said, truly impressed with what she'd come up with. He glanced back in the wagon, noticing another bundle tucked against the corner. "What about that?" he asked curiously.

She undid the bag's thin string, pulling out four large ducks and displaying them proudly in each hand. "These are for us," she grinned.

Adam felt his mouth water. Roast duck! How long had it been?

Belle chuckled at his expression. "I thought you might be sick of venison after ten years."

"You were right," he admitted.

"And there should be more where that came from," she went on, climbing up to the seat and tugging out a final box from below. Adam reached over and pulled the heavy case from her hands, to which she sighed gratefully. Beneath its lid were the promised hunting bullets—enough to last a couple years, and even more if he was being careful.

"Thank you," he said sincerely. He knew it a strange thing to be so grateful for, and he knew it didn't matter if she were to break the spell in the end. But at the same time, that small box meant she understood his fears.

Belle smiled warmly, but only went on. "With this cold weather, the ducks will be moving away from the lake and hopefully into our woods," she noted, before pursing her lips. "Oh! I should have thought—we could get chickens too! Think of all the things Chef Bouche could cook with eggs. And I could even make you Maman's recipe for madeleines—" She suddenly stopped, expression falling in an instant as her words caught up with her.

Adam set the box down quickly and reached around the wooden plank where she sat. She buried her face in her hands.

"S-sorry," she said between her fingers.

Adam shook his head. "The first Christmas is hard," he said quietly, hesitating briefly before letting his arm reach around her shoulders. "It's okay if the holidays make you feel…sad."

She nodded, leaning into him. After a long moment she pulled away, looking up and letting two heavy tears fall down her cheeks before wiping them quickly away. "I'm worried about Papa," she admitted through a swollen throat. "At least…at least I'm here, with all of you. He's in a strange place, and he's all alone…"

Adam shook his head. "He's not alone."

"What?" Belle asked in confusion.

He tugged the enchanted mirror from his belt, where he'd started keeping it recently. "I, um, checked on him this morning," he explained. "One of the hospital nurses has invited him to her parents' home for the holidays. See?"

Without needing to ask, the mirror responded to his words, and Belle took it in her hands and watched as her father appeared in its surface. He sat in a small apartment, a couple children sitting in his lap as he read to them. Several adults were bustling around the kitchen, before a young woman moved over and beckoned Maurice and his little friends to supper.

"He won't be alone for Christmas," Belle breathed in relief.

Adam gave her shoulder a quick squeeze, letting her watch her father for another long minute. At last, he cocked his head at her. "Can I show you something else I figured out?" he asked.

Belle's eyes brightened as she nodded. He took the mirror back, and spoke. "Show me something spectacular."

Belle raised a brow at him. "That's…vague," she observed.

"But look…it _works,"_ he said earnestly, holding it between the two of them. The surface dissolved into darkness, bright lights suddenly flashing from the glass. Several loud, crackling _booms_ immediately followed.

Belle gasped in shock. "What is that?"

"I'm not sure," Adam replied, just as surprised as she was. He hadn't been sure what they would see, either. When he'd asked the same question earlier, it had shown him the Taj Mahal.

Suddenly, the mirror's reflection changed again, the cover of a book titled _Traité des feux d'artifice pour le spectacle_ appearing in its surface.

"Treatise on Fireworks," Belle read excitedly. "By Frézier, the explorer!" With their question answered, the mirror returned to the display of colorful lights. "I can't believe it," Belle went on. "They're so bright, and _loud!"_ she laughed, covering her ears at the next blast.

Adam only stared at the mirror in some puzzlement, realizing the object seemed to be getting more and more of a mind of its own lately. "Yes…they are," he responded belatedly, shaken from his thoughts at the beautiful smile on Belle's face. He'd been nervous the mirror would hold too many bad memories for her after what had happened, but it seemed his worries were in vain.

"You had a busy morning," he observed. "How about we eat lunch…then spend the day seeing what else it will show us?"

She looked over, that smile now directed at him—and he realized she could have given him the Taj Mahal itself and it wouldn't have made him as happy.

* * *

"Belle?"

"Yes, Chip?" Belle asked, lifting a warm mug to her lips.

"Are you gonna marry Master?"

The sip of hot cider Belle had been taking turned into an enormous gulp, which was now sliding painfully down her throat as she attempted to recover. "P-pardon?" she choked out, cheeks flaming despite the bitter afternoon air.

"I just thought, since you two do lots of stuff together, that you were gonna be married soon," the little teacup explained in innocence.

"I-I don't…I mean, we…um…" She paused, looking around the gardens where they sat, but there were no living objects in sight. "Adam and I…we're just very good friends," she finally managed. At the words, however, an unpleasant feeling washed over her. _Disappointment?_ she suddenly wondered.

Chip sagged in place. "Oh. I was only hoping you would, 'cause then you can live here with us forever."

Belle's heart melted a bit in understanding. "Oh, Chip. Don't worry, I'm not going anywhere, okay?"

He brightened quickly. "You mean it?"

"Of course I mean it."

Brightening again, the little cup hopped down into the snow and hurried off to join some of the older boys out playing in the open field. Belle, for her part, remained in place, trying desperately to calm the burning that had now inched up her cheeks and into her ears.

 _Why am I so flustered?_ she thought anxiously. _It was just an innocent question. We…we could never actually—_

"How's the cider?"

 _"Eeep!"_ Belle cried, startled at the sight of Adam not a pace away, arms full of newly chopped firewood.

"Oh God, Belle—I'm so sorry," he said, stepping back quickly. "I didn't mean to frighten you, I thought you heard me coming…"

"No, no it's fine," she said in embarrassment. "I was just, um…lost in thought."

"Oh! What were you thinking about?" he asked with interest.

Most of the time, the fact that Adam actually cared about her thoughts was extremely refreshing. Right now, however, was not one of those times.

"Um…" Belle said dumbly, unable to reach for any excuse due to the fact that Chip's question presently occupied the entirely of her thoughts. "I was just thinking about…Chip," she managed at last. It wasn't a lie, after all.

"Mmm," he nodded, looking back out where the teacup was jumping around in the snow with some of the younger stable hands. "Don't worry, he'll be fine. The older boys know to be careful around him."

Belle let out a sigh of relief, but not for the reason Adam thought.

"Belle, do you want to go in? You look freezing."

She flushed further. "I-I do?"

"It's just…your cheeks. They're bright red," he said, before looking a bit flustered himself. "St-still…still nice, though," he added quickly.

"Oh," Belle replied, pressing her mittens to her face as she flushed further. "Yes…I suppose they're um, cold. Yes, very cold," she fibbed, skin burning beneath her hands in further embarrassment.

"You might be getting wind burn," he said with concern, growing serious again as he looked back out towards the distant peaks, now shrouded in dark clouds. A strong gust blew through his fur as he frowned. "I think there's another storm blowing in tonight. In fact, I should probably get everyone inside before it starts." He stopped in his musings, looking back at her. "Could you help me do a headcount?"

Belle finally smiled. "Of course," she replied. Adam nodded gratefully, moving to deposit the stack of wood in his arms near the back door before heading back out into the courtyard to bring the others inside.

Belle's smile grew as he walked off, her embarrassment from before slowly ebbing away. When it came to the safety of the palace residents, one could always expect Adam to grow extremely attentive, almost to the point of single-mindedness. Belle couldn't help but find it endearing, and sometimes wondered how that kind of watchful leadership would have been applied as their kingdom's ruler, had he been given the chance.

 _He's a protector,_ she realized, chest flooding with warmth at the realization, thoughts turned back to an old memory.

* * *

_"What did you think of Aurore, Belle?"_

_The six year-old thought for a moment, and smiled. "She was brave," she stated simply._

_"Brave, mm? And what makes you say so?"_

_"She—she didn't give up, even when it looked like things would be really bad."_

_"Ah, that **is** brave," Papa agreed, closing the tale of _ Aurore and Aimée _in his lap before giving his daughter a squeeze. Belle giggled in response, hugging him back._

_"Everyone has something about them that makes them special, Belle," Papa went on. She looked up from where she sat in his lap, eyes wide and attentive. "Aurore…shall we call her a believer?"_

_Belle nodded happily._

_"Then you've got your adventurers, your creators, your peacemakers…your protectors," he went on, before leaning close to whisper. "But your Maman's one of the best."_

_"What is she?" Belle asked eagerly._

_"She's a giver," Papa said with warmth. "Has been since the day I met her. Always willing to give of herself for everyone around her. Wouldn't you agree?"_

_The six year-old thought for a moment, before nodding eagerly. "Like how she's helping the triplets' maman right now," she observed._

_"Exactly," Papa said. "You are a bright girl, you know." He paused, expression softening as he looked towards the dark window. "She's already given so much to me, to you, but she never stops. I'm afraid I'll never catch up to her," he said, looking back down and giving Belle a wink._

_At that, the door opened, a sharp breeze blowing into the warm room. "Maman!" Belle cried, jumping off her father's lap and running into the woman's legs._

_Her mother laughed. "Did you two have fun while I was gone?"_

_"Yes!" Belle exclaimed._

_"And how many books did you read?" she went on, eyeing the piles now pulled from the shelves and scattered along the floor._

_"Papa read five, and I read three all by myself," Belle said with pride. "A-and guess what? Papa told me you're a giver!"_

_"Oh, that again," Maman replied, though she looked up at her husband with a warm smile._

_"What about you, Papa?" Belle went on, turning around again. "What are you?"_

_He stood from the sofa, resting his hands on his hips and puffing out his chest in mock pride. "I'm an inventor, of course!"_

_Maman and Belle both laughed. "I would go with innovator, my love," his wife suggested._

_"Ah, yes, that has a nice ring to it."_

_"What about me?" Belle asked seriously._

_"Mmm," Papa hummed, moving over and crouching beside her. "There's still time to see, but if you ask me," he said, pausing for a moment. "You're a seeker."_

_"A seeker?"_

_He nodded. "A seeker of truth. A seeker of wisdom. A seeker of beauty," he explained, glancing towards the dozens of small drawings now hanging by a string along the wall. When he looked back at her, his eyes were thoughtful. "A seeker of **good."**_

As the memory faded, Belle looked back across the grounds. Surrounding Adam was a small party of objects, all heading back towards the castle as the winds started to pick up bits of loose snow from the grounds.

 _They are good,_ Belle thought to herself. _This place is good._

She watched the large man as he padded across the grounds—for he _was_ a man in her eyes, and had been for some time—and thought of the ways he not only protected those under his watch, but cared for _her_ in ways she had never felt cared for before. Her heart swelled with a strong, new warmth.

 **_Adam_ ** _is good._

* * *

"Dearest, are you all right?"

Belle jolted in place, looking up from where she sat cross-legged in the center of the bed. She'd thought the wardrobe was asleep. "Yes! Perfectly fine," she said quickly, voice a bit higher than normal.

"Just wide-awake at half-past one in the morning?" the woman chuckled.

"I was, um…I was just thinking," she shrugged. "I suppose I lost track of the hour."

"Well, there's plenty of time for thinking during the day! Don't neglect that beauty sleep of yours," the woman winked, giving a rather loud yawn before settling back against the wall where she stood.

Belle nodded, crawling back inside the covers and trying to take the advice to heart. As the small mantle clock struck two and she remained wide awake, however, she realized it was no use.

She just couldn't stop thinking about him.

Of course, Adam usually had a prominent place in her thoughts. Such was normal when you spent a significant portion of your time with a person. But she hadn't thought about him like _this_ before—wishing he was there to hold her close, to brush his fingers through her hair, to hold her hands in his and whisper sweet nothings in her ear all while watching her with those blue, knowing eyes—

 _I'm being silly,_ Belle chided herself, sucking in a deep breath and blowing a stray bit of hair from her eyes. She tugged at the robe around her shoulders, burying her face in the soft fabric and letting its familiar scent calm her—

Belle froze in place, registering exactly what she was doing. What she was _wearing._

Or, more specifically, the giant robe of the person she had been trying very hard not to think about that currently encased her head to toe. The robe she hadn't been able to sleep without since its owner left it with her.

 _Sacrebleu,_ she realized, cheeks burning. _I have feelings for him._

She grinned in spite of herself, realizing how deep her denial had become until this moment. At once, it was as though the floodgates had opened, her chest filling with an overwhelming warmth that left her smiling stupidly beneath the sheets.

 _All right, so he's no Prince Charming_ , she admitted. Belle wrinkled her nose at that, recalling how Cinderella's prince had always seemed a bit daft to her anyway. Handsome or not, who wanted a man who couldn't even recognize the woman he loved without checking her shoe size?

Belle shook her head, trying to focus. She knew this was about more than looks. Adam might have been human on the inside, but he obviously wasn't on the outside. None of this mattered in a platonic relationship, but, well…there were definitely some challenges it would present in a romantic one.

 _It's so unfair!_ Belle thought, her anger with that wicked enchantress filling her chest once again. Would Adam really have to be alone forever just because of some ruthless curse? And would _she_ have to accept a life without him because of it?

A life with someone else?

Belle felt suddenly sick. The thought made her miserable.

As though sensing her distress, she felt a quiet tapping against the mattress. Peaking over the edge were Max's dark eyes, a soft whine of concern sounding in the quiet room as he nudged a wet nose into her hand.

Belle smiled a bit, running a hand over his head to assure him she was all right, letting the quiet of night and her canine companion calm her thoughts.

 _You know what, who cares about the curse,_ she decided at last, suddenly full of determination. Maybe this wasn't exactly orthodox. Maybe Adam had a…unique body. Maybe he was covered in fur, with horns and fangs and the feet of a wolf. But the way he spoke, the way he smiled, the way he _touched_ her—those were all utterly, unmistakably human.

Whatever challenges this would present...they could make it work.

 _That is, if he even wants this too,_ a voice in Belle's head reminded her. She frowned. Adam _was_ a prince, after all. Maybe he didn't mind befriending a peasant, but courting one was an entirely different matter.

She remembered his fingers against her palm. _"Perhaps this can be your home."_

 _I…I **think** he might like me, _she thought, chewing her lip nervously.

 _Or maybe he was just being nice,_ the voice suggested. Belle thought of the way Adam treated everyone else—maybe she was reading too far into the thoughtful actions that were simply part of his nature.

 _I have no idea what I'm doing, do I?_ Belle realized, flushing brighter and burying her face back in her pillow. This feeling—it was both exciting and tormenting at the same time.

Now finding sleep completely impossible, Belle soon slid carefully from the sheets, removing the large robe from her shoulders and sliding her arms through her own. Tugging on some thick socks and sliding her feet into a pair of house slippers, she tip-toed silently past the sleeping wardrobe and into hall with Max at her heels.

* * *

Adam heard her coming from a ways off—he couldn't help it, for his hearing was highly acute, especially now that the storm had calmed. At first, he worried she was sleepwalking again, but the sound of Max's quiet footfalls alongside hers erased his worries. Instead, he waited for her with a strange eagerness, trying to focus on the book in his hands but failing to grasp any of the letters on the page. He sometimes wondered if Belle shared his habit of visiting the library when she couldn't sleep, but they'd never yet encountered one another here.

As soon as the library door cracked open, he heard Max slip in before her, rushing over to where he sat. He leaned over, giving the mutt a good rub behind the ears before looking back up at the woman who approached.

"Adam!" Belle said in surprise, taking a step back as she rounded the side of the couch. "I was just…I couldn't sleep, and…I'm sorry, I d-didn't expect to see…" She trailed off, chewing her lip madly and staring at the floor.

"It's all right," he said, a bit puzzled by her reaction. "…Did the storm wake you earlier? It was quite loud."

She pursed her lips. "Um…perhaps," she conceded, still not meeting his eyes.

Adam sensed her discomfort, something he hadn't felt from her since their very first encounter. He frowned, starting to worry as he thought over the day. She had seemed more…skittish, than normal _. Did I do something to upset her?_ he wondered anxiously. _To **frighten** her?_

He looked into his lap, wondering if he should leave and give Belle the solitude she had probably come here seeking. As he started to stand, however, she spoke.

"You're leaving already?"

Now thoroughly perplexed, Adam shook his head slowly. "Just, um…getting a new book," he decided, moving to the bookcase beside the hearth and absently grabbing another novel before returning to the sofa.

Belle had finally settled down herself, arms resting on the sofa's back as she stared over towards the tall windows across the room. "It's still snowing," she observed quietly.

"Yes," Adam breathed, though his eyes hadn't left her. She didn't wear her hair down much during the day, but right now it sat in soft waves around her shoulders framing pretty cheeks that glowed in the light of the fire. She looked like an angel.

"Want to watch it?"

"Hmm?" he said, shaken from his reverie.

"The snow…" Belle explained with some shyness, though she smiled. "I…I was thinking of going over to watch it. Do you want to—"

Feeling suddenly mischievous, Adam stood before she could finish and picked up the couch with ease. Belle, to his amusement, squealed in surprise as she clutched the armrest, though he wouldn't have let her fall off as he carried it over to the large windows and let it rest back on the floor. Even then, Belle was having difficulty containing her laughter.

 _"Shhh,"_ he chuckled, leaning down close. "You're going to wake the whole household."

"Y-your fault," she managed through her giggles. "Besides, you—you made me lose a slipper!" she declared adamantly.

As if on demand, Max padded over with said-slipper in mouth, setting it on the ground before curling up by Belle's feet. Still feeling playful, Adam dropped to one knee and picked it up, before cocking a head at her.

Belle looked surprised, but slowly offered up one stockinged foot in response. He slid the slipper on in mock reverence.

"It fits," he teased.

Instead of laughing, however, Belle only stared at him, looking almost…amazed. And Adam was suddenly aware of what he had just implied. It was but a moment before she smiled again, but instead of mirth, her eyes seemed full of thought. Unsure what to make of it, and now feeling a bit sheepish himself, Adam simply stood and settled quietly beside her.

They turned towards the tall windows at once, and Adam was soon distracted by the view before them, more breathtaking than he'd expected. Moonlight fell through a few patches in the clouds, illuminating the gardens and the trees visible from the library's third-floor overhang. The snowfall was silent, even to his ears, and the faint reflection of the Christmas tree behind them sent a warm, nostalgic feeling into his chest.

Belle must have felt the same, or at least he assumed—she stared unblinking at the scene, chest rising for a long moment before she sighed in content. "I love it here," she breathed.

_I love you here._

When she looked back at him, Adam panicked for a moment that he'd spoken the words aloud. But she only smiled warmly before looking back outside. Something beside him shifted as she did so, and he noticed her hand now resting oddly close to his knee.

Adam furrowed his brows briefly before his eyes popped open. _Oh!_ he realized in shock. _Does…does she **want** me to… _He felt his entire body growing warm, his paw tense and unyielding to his mind which commanded it to move. _What's wrong with me?_ he thought in mild panic. He could hold her while she cried, but he couldn't reach out to touch those fingers in this innocent moment?

But that was just it. With every touch, every embrace up until now he could fall back on the same excuse—that she'd needed the comfort of a friend. Or at least transportation into a bunker or up a tree. In this moment, however, he had no excuse. In this moment…it would mean something more.

Adam knew—or hoped, rather—that had he possessed his human form he'd show a bit more courage at such a simple prospect. But the innate doubt that anyone could really care for him as he was still lingered, however reduced from its original state, and didn't quite let him act. _What if I try and she pulls away?_ he thought anxiously. _What if I'm misreading this, what if I ruin what we already—_

His thoughts stopped as her fingers began curling back slowly. He looked up; Belle was biting her lip, a look he'd come to recognize as disappointment sweeping over her face as she cast her eyes to the floor.

That was enough. Before her hand could fully retreat, he captured it in his own. His paw was so large he still wasn't sure what to do with it, but such worries disappeared as her fingers brushed up his palm and tucked themselves carefully between a couple of his knuckles. His heart was beating so fast that he nearly missed Belle's reaction—cheeks flushed brighter than he'd ever seen them, stealing an unusually shy glance up at him before staring out at the snow. Grateful she didn't spot the stupid smile now spreading over his face, Adam inched up beside her, pulling their joined hands into his lap. She let her head rest against him.

They sat like that for a long time, fingers brushing palms, an unspoken understanding between them that something was there now.

Something that wasn't there before.


	13. Chapter 12

"What is all this commotion?!"

Cogsworth was hushed by a dozen servants at once, all gathered together in northern wing. All were fighting for a peek between the banisters towards the landing across and below, whispering excitedly amongst themselves.

Huffing to himself, the head of the household pushed his way through the small crowd, certain nothing could be so interesting as to justify half the morning staff neglecting their duties.

Before he could even make out the source of their whispers, a waxy arm had found its way around his shoulders. "Look at that, mon amie! Do you know what this means?!" Lumiere whispered excitedly.

"Look at _what?"_ the old clock asked, brushing the man off irritably.

"They're holding _hands!"_ one of the maids practically squealed, hushed by several others around her.

In the hall below, the master's ears twitched at the noise, but he only offered a parting glance in their direction before letting his gaze fall back to the young woman at his side. Whose hand Cogsworth noted was, indeed, encased in the master's own.

 _"I_ saw it first," another woman said with pride. "Caught them sneaking out of the library at dawn, couldn't have been half past six."

"Do you think they were there all night?" someone else asked excitedly.

"Hush, we shouldn't assume anything—"

"He must have asked her to court him!"

"Thatta lad," an older fellow nodded. "Always knew he had it in 'im."

The young couple continued further down the corridor, stopping when the master leaned down and whispered something in Belle's ear. She giggled quietly in response, sending several more maids into a mild hysteria.

"Ah, yes, well, very good, very good," Cogsworth conceded, trying to conceal his own pleasure at this new development as he waved the crowds away from their impromptu observation deck.

"But then…why hasn't the curse broken?" someone whispered as they headed downstairs.

"Doesn't she love him yet?"

"Or perhaps…he doesn't love her?"

"Are you kidding?" another man laughed. "He's been head over heels for the girl for _weeks_ now—"

"Besides, they have to say the words aloud, remember? _Declare your love,_ or some nonsense like that—"

"Well, what's he waiting for?"

"I'm sure he'll do it soon…"

"But _when?"_

"If you ask me, we'll be human again by midnight!"

At that, Lumiere, quite literally, brightened, pushing his way to the front of the crowd. "Place your bets here, mes amies!" he cried, waving his arms to gather their attention. "A week, a day, an hour? What'll it be? Winner takes the pot!"

Cogsworth bristled at that. "There—there will be no gambling on these premises!" he declared sternly, trying and failing to get the attention of the objects now gathering around the maître d', who had somehow produced a quill and parchment and had already noted half a dozen bets on its surface.

"These are the master's affairs!" Cogsworth continued with some desperation. "W-we shouldn't—"

"Cogsworth is quite right," someone spoke. The old clock turned around, noticing Mrs. Potts had appeared before them, one painted brow raised at the chattering crowd. They fell immediately silent.

"Well, I…" Cogsworth cleared his throat, nodding towards her. "Thank you, Mrs. Potts. I'm glad _someone_ else sees reason."

"But my dear Mrs. Potts," Lumiere interjected. "Haven't you seen the master and his chéri? It can't be long now, and we've waited so _long—"_

"We have, and we can wait a little more I daresay," she said matter-of-factly. "After all, we don't want to scare the poor girl off right when she's made such a difficult decision."

"…Difficult?" someone asked.

"Well, yes. We cannot forget—Belle does not know the master can be human once again. She must have accepted the courtship realizing it could only end in union with the master as he is now," Mrs. Potts explained. "The dear girl must have dealt with some very confusing feelings about it. No doubt still is."

The crowd was silent at that, those with head-like appendages nodding in understanding.

"Un ange," Lumiere said reverently, touching his heart. Or at least, where it would be if he still had one.

"An angel indeed," Mrs. Potts agreed. "Now! Let's get the young people some breakfast, and say nothing of it. Best to mind your own business and let things progress as they should."

The servants nodded reluctantly, the crowd dispersing as they began to move in the direction of their morning tasks.

"However," the old pot went on, causing them all to pause in their tracks. "Interfering is not the same as…helping things along," she smiled. "I say we work hard and make this the best Christmas the palace has yet seen, hmm?"

At that, several smiles broke out among the crowd.

"Ah, oui! That will do the trick!" Lumiere grinned, flames sparking in excitement as animated conversations returned to the hall. "Footman! Come with me," he ordered. "We're going to deck these halls like nothing you've ever seen!"

* * *

Adam sat on the couch, a book open in his lap to the same page it was a half hour ago. In the same time, Belle had already read through several chapters of her own, clearly immersed in the story as she held the book in one hand and Adam's paw in her other. She would pull away periodically to turn a page, but then always slide her fingers back in his. During an especially intense section, Adam noticed her grip tighten as she bit her lip and sucked in a breath of anticipation, unconsciously pressing herself closer against him.

Adam smiled, chest somehow flooding with more warmth than was already there. He _loved_ watching Belle read. Before today, he'd always made himself look away after a few moments, but now that things had…progressed, he felt it was all right to let his gaze linger.

Adam had sometimes wondered how things would change between him and Belle if this ever happened. But it turned out their relationship was still very much the same, in all the best ways—they still cared for the horses, and took long walks through the woods, and ate together, and found some new wonder to explore in the enchanted mirror each evening. They even attempted to work on the index each day before inevitably settling down to read something that had caught their interest.

 _Though some things are definitely different,_ he smiled, looking back down at their joined hands. To his surprise, it seemed Belle craved the closeness they now had as much as he did.

As if reading his thoughts, she closed the book and set it aside, curling her fingers tighter in his paw and weaving her free arm around his elbow. Tucking her legs beneath her, Belle pressed herself even closer to him, closing her eyes as a pleasant smile crossed her lips.

Tossing his own unread text away, Adam squeezed her hand carefully, the reality of how far things had come still leaving him breathless. He thought back to the day she'd first appeared, and smiled.

"Question," he whispered.

"Mmm?" Belle hummed, looking up at him with soft eyes.

"…Why did you first come here?"

She looked surprised. "To—to repay you, of course!" she said adamantly.

"Yeah, yeah," he said, waving the response off. "…But what was the _real_ reason?"

Belle grinned a little, cheeks growing pink. "…I was curious," she admitted. "And bored."

A hearty laugh escaped him. "I _knew_ it."

"Hey, laugh all you want," she said, clearly trying to suppress a smile. "Without me, you wouldn't be having roast duck for Christmas dinner."

He chuckled again, resting his head atop hers as his heart swelled once again. As though _that_ were the reason he was most glad she was here.

Pulling back, he gazed back down at her fondly. Today, instead of her characteristic ponytail, Belle had kept most of her hair down, the top tied up in a small ribbon. He reached up, curling his fingers back in a moment of hesitation before tucking that stray lock of hair behind her ear. He let his fingers linger in the soft waves against her shoulder.

A pleasant sigh escaped Belle's lips, giving him the courage to repeat the motion. His fingers brushed the ends of her ribbon this time, and he suddenly imagined tugging it loose, letting his fingers slide through the length her hair, brushing over the soft skin of her neck and shoulders and down her—

 _Woah!_ he thought in alarm, eyes growing wide as he pulled his hand back into his lap. _Just c-calm down. Calm down!_ he told himself sternly, forcing himself to imagine the feeling of jumping into one of the snow drifts outside.

No, imagining it wasn't enough.

"Oh! What's the matter?" Belle asked as he stood.

"Nothing! Nothing at all. I'm fine, completely—absolutely fine," he stammered like an idiot. "Just, uh…getting more firewood."

Belle glanced at the roaring fire, but only smiled. "Okay," she said happily, reaching over for her book and cozying back up in the corner of the couch to await his return.

Adam escaped quickly, emerging into the bitter air a few minutes later. He let himself fall on his back in the fresh snow, staring at the clear sky overhead.

Whatever the enchantress might have told him, it was becoming more and more obvious that his instincts were those of a man, not a beast. He raised his paws above him, reminding himself what he was. Their large outlines blocked the sun up above, and he sighed. Strangely, the dissonance between mind and body seemed to have grown even worse lately than it had when he had first changed. He just…he didn't _feel_ like a beast anymore. He wondered if he ever really had.

 _You sleep on a rug,_ he reminded himself. But wouldn't anyone, if their body was more comfortable that way?

 _I…I can't really eat food very cleanly,_ he acknowledged, thinking of the molars resting far in the back of his mouth. But again, that wasn't an instinct so much as a condition. Just like he could climb trees, or carve marks in their bark, or run fast on all fours. It wasn't as though he really felt the _need_ to do any of those things, he just took advantage of them when they became useful.

And his feelings for Belle…those were obviously human. He wanted to make her feel happy, and safe, and…well, frankly, he _really_ wanted to kiss her. Just the night before he had to physically reach up and feel the fangs protruding from his lip to remind himself that this was definitely not an option.

He smiled a little, in spite of himself. _Maybe I was never_ _ **really**_ _a beast after all._

"Master, what are you doing?"

Adam grimaced, sitting up to see the castle's maître d' hopping towards him from the grounds. "It's frigid out today—I can barely get a light," Lumiere went on, a meager spark shooting from the end of one golden limb.

"I was just, um," Adam started, clearing his throat in discomfort. "I just got a little…hot."

Lumiere suddenly flashed a wicked grin. "You know, Master, it's perfectly normal if you begin to feel—"

"I don't want to talk about it!" Adam groaned, burying his face in his paws in embarrassment.

"You know, my lord, it just occurred to me that given your circumstances, it's possible that no one ever explained to you how—"

"Oh my God, Lumiere, _please_ stop," he begged, looking around in a panic in case anyone was eavesdropping. "I know— _I know how it works,"_ he hissed.

"Of course, of course," the candlestick went on, indifferent to his master's mortification. "However, there's much more to pleasing a woman than—"

"I know!" Adam cried. "Look, Lumiere, I really don't think I need to start worrying about this anytime soon. I should probably focus on becoming, you know… _human_ first," he explained, waving a hand pointedly over his frame. 

"Certainly, my lord," Lumiere agreed. "When were you, ah…thinking that might happen?"

Adam bit his lip nervously, looking into his lap. When _was_ he planning on telling Belle he loved her?

"Oh, forgive me," the maître d' said quickly. "All in good time, I'm sure. But perhaps…" He paused, looking around before going on. "Perhaps you would not object to the aid of my good footmen and myself in providing the requisite… _ambiance,"_ he said quietly.

Adam raised a brow.

"Just picture this, Master," Lumiere said earnestly, hopping over and placing a waxy arm on his shoulder. "There will be music. Romantic candlelight, provided by myself," he explained, waving a golden arm across the snowy landscape as if painting the scene itself before them.

 _"Yeah,"_ Adam agreed with a lopsided smile.

"And when the moment is right, you confess your love!" the candelabra exclaimed, pulling away as his flames sparked in excitement, though the cold quickly extinguished them.

"Yes, I—" Adam stopped, swallowing roughly and suddenly feeling terribly anxious. _Why?_ he wondered. Adam recalled the new intimacy that had awakened between them just days before. He knew Belle felt something for him—that much was obvious now, and it was enough to make his heart soar.

But did she _love_ him?

"Master…you care for the girl, don't you?" Lumiere asked carefully.

"More than _anything,"_ Adam said with all his heart. "But I just…I still don't know if I'm ready for this," he admitted, ducking his head.

"Don't fret, Master. The rose was to last through your twenty-first year, no? We still have until March—plenty of time!" Lumiere assured him.

Adam nodded slowly. As promised, the rose had bloomed until his twentieth birthday—or in other words, the beginning of his twenty-first year of life—and had wilted slowly in the months since. The first petal fell in late May, another handful by summer's end, and over twice as many since. Still, the witch had said it would last through the final year, and as much as he despised the woman, he had to trust her word on it. After all…why would she lie about this?

"You'll know when the time is right," Lumiere was saying. Adam looked up; for but a moment, Lumiere's usual gusto fell into the warm smile of a friend. "And when you do," the man added, his flashy grin reappearing. "We'll be there to make it a night to remember!"

Adam let a small smile tug at the corner of his own mouth. He knew everyone in the household must be anxious for him to say the words, but if Lumiere of all people could show such patience, certainly the rest of them would. Besides, while Belle's presence meant ending the curse for everyone else, she meant so much more to him. He wanted to do this right—to tell her when it _felt_ right, not just to break the curse and be done with it.

For even when all was said and done, even with a human body and his freedom and maybe even his kingdom…Belle would still matter the most to him.

* * *

"Ouch!"

Adam pulled back a thumb, now burning red through his fur, sticking it in his mouth as the finger flooded with pain. An expletive or two crossed his mind as he glared at the hammer in his other hand, the crooked wooden beams on the workshop table looking nothing like the diagram in the open book to his left.

He cursed aloud this time. This wasn't working at all.

"Master?"

Adam started, looking around to see a suit of armor leaning against the doorway, arms crossed as if amused by him. "Oh. Hi, Sophie," he said in chagrin.

"My lord," she started, moving over and looking at the mess before him. "I don't wish to pry, but…what are you doing?"

He pursed his lips, sucking in a breath before sighing deeply. "Trying to make _that,"_ he admitted, pointing to the book.

Sophie turned towards it, cocking her head. "What is it?"

"An artist's easel," he explained.

"For Belle?"

He rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah," he smiled, in spite of himself. "For Christmas. I just…I was thinking, she painted all those plates, but I don't think she's ever had the right materials to do much more than sketch before."

Sophie hummed for a moment, looking around the workshop. "What about that one?" she asked, pointing to an old tripod in the corner. "I bet if you sand it down and restain it, it'll do the job."

"But it's so old, and there's a couple deep dents in it already," he said adamantly, turning back and picking up the book to show her. "Besides, this one folds up, so she could carry it outside and paint landscapes like she enjoys."

Sophie was silent, and given her face was a helmet, it was impossible to read her expression. "Master?" she said at last.

"Mmm?" he said absently, still frowning at the diagram in his hands.

"You're an enormous sweetheart, do you realize that?"

"I—w-what?" he said in embarrassment.

Sophie just laughed. "Tell you what—I know Timothée has some experience with woodworking, so we'll get him to talk you through it. But you're going to need more than that," she said, placing her hands on her hips. "You're going to need paint."

Adam's paw flew to his forehead. "Ugh, of course!" he recalled, frowning deeply. There was barely enough left when she painted last. They had plenty of empty canvases—considering the poor palace artisan had been transformed into a footstool, the man hadn't used any of them in ten years. But what good was an easel and blank canvases with nothing but old, dried up paint?

"Don't worry, my lord," Sophie said, raising a metal finger. "I've got an idea."

* * *

"GINGER!"

Every occupant of the large kitchen turned towards the stove, now steaming in irritation after his outcry.

"What is it now, Chef Bouche?" Mrs. Potts asked in exacerbation. Unlike the rest of them, the old stove had only grown more irritable with the coming celebration, and even her patience with him was growing thin.

"We don't have ginger!" he cried. "How can I make _pain d'epices_ without ginger?!"

"I'm sure the master and mademoiselle will survive without it," the teapot said. "Aren't you already making three other desserts for them?"

As if on cue, the young couple came in through the backdoor, shaking off the snow from their cloaks, unaware of what they were walking into.

"But what is a Christmas feast without gingerbread?" the chef went on. "I will _not_ tolerate such a stain to my reputation."

Mrs. Potts rolled her porcelain eyes. "Oh, for the love of—"

"What's, uh, going on?" Master Adam asked innocently.

A little _too_ innocently, Mrs. Potts noted, though she only shook her head. "Seems we're out of ginger. Looks like you two will have to give up your gingerbread this year."

To her shock, the master frowned deeply as he brought a hand to his chin. "Mmm, can't have that," he said seriously.

If Mrs. Potts had a jaw, it would have fallen open. She could barely count on the fingers of one non-existent hand the number of times the boy had ever complained in his life—and for him to do so now, over something so trivial?

"Looks like we'll have to make another trip to town!" Sophie said, appearing out of nowhere from the top of the stairs.

"We?" someone asked.

"Yep! Time for a girl outing," Sophie said brightly, gallivanting down the staircase and placing a metal hand on Belle's shoulder.

Unlike the master and Sophie, Belle seemed completely perplexed by this development. "But…I'm _certain_ I bought a root of ginger on my last trip," she said with concern.

"Oh, it must have fallen out on the way," Sophie said quickly. "Don't feel bad! This way we can grab some chickens too, just like you wanted."

Belle raised a brow, glancing up at Adam before back to the maid. "But how did _you_ know—"

"Come, we best hurry! It's not too late—if we leave right away, we can make it there and back before nightfall."

"…All right," Belle agreed, brightening a bit. "This could be fun! Beaumont is quite beautiful right now too. I'm sure you'll love it."

"Mama, Mama!" Chip cried. "Can I go too?"

"Absolutely not," Mrs. Potts said firmly.

"Master, you're just going to let Sophie leave the grounds?" Cogsworth asked in disbelief, having come to investigate all the commotion. "What if she's discovered? Or what is she _says_ something," he said darkly, narrowing his eyes at the metal maid. He had a point—Sophie wasn't exactly known for holding her tongue.

"It'll be fine," Adam said, waving a hand in the air but not making eye contact with anyone.

 _Something is definitely going on,_ Mrs. Potts quietly observed. Though if the master was really okay with it…he must have a good reason.

"Yeah, it'll just look like I'm her beau," Sophie went on, swinging a metal arm over Belle's shoulders and making a few nearby servants chuckle to themselves.

The master, however, suddenly seemed a bit put off.

"Ah, don't worry, my lord—I won't steal her away from you," Sophie teased.

"W-what?" he stammered. "I didn't…I'm not…" He trailed off, now terribly flustered as he moved towards the back door. "I'm just—I'm going to go get the horses ready…"

As the door shut behind him, warm laughter filled the kitchen. _"Sophie,"_ Belle rebuked her, flushed herself even as she tried to stifle her own chuckles. "Now you've embarrassed him."

* * *

Sophie couldn't exactly grin in her current form, but if she could she'd be doing just that right now. Her plan had worked perfectly. She wiggled her hollow leg a bit—the missing ginger wedged in her toe as the castle disappeared behind them. In a pouch around her waist sat a large handful of coins the master had given her to buy _"all the paints and brushes you can find."_ His words.

 _"So,"_ she started, looking over at Belle who sat on the wagon seat beside her. "Things are going well with you and the master?"

"Oh!" Belle said in surprise, blushing brightly. "Um, yes…they are," she admitted, clearly trying not to smile.

"Come on, you have to tell me how it happened," Sophie said eagerly.

Belle flushed further, but finally grinned. "Okay," she said in a quiet excitement.

As Belle delved into the story, Sophie had to admit to herself that it was nice to have another friend she could talk to like this. True, Belle was over a decade her junior, but she was easygoing and full of energy and life—something the older servants seemed to be lacking in great abundance. While Sophie had tried to stay optimistic over the years, in truth she'd spent much of the last decade wandering the grand halls in isolation.

Besides, given the curse meant she'd pretty much missed her own age of courting, she could at least be happy hearing Belle's. Still…she sighed at the thought. Of all the times in life to get cursed, it just had to be when she was nineteen. Now nearly thirty, Sophie knew she was pretty much guaranteed to be an old maid, even if Belle did wind up breaking the spell.

"I suppose it's a little…unusual," Belle was saying. Sophie looked over—the girl was pursing her lips, a small blush crossing her cheeks as she gave the reins a light _snap_ at the base of the hill. "I mean, I have to admit, I'm a bit nervous what Papa will say when he returns."

Sophie hummed in understanding. "Well, it's true our little master turned out a bit different than we all expected him too," she teased warmly. "But I bet he gives the best hugs, huh?"

Belle laughed, cheeks growing pink once again. "Yes…he does," she admitted, before looking back up the road. "Oh! We're here—take a look."

Sophie looked out as they crested the hill, the other side dotted with little houses built into the hills, a bustling square nestled into the shallow valley below.

"There's so many people!" Sophie cried in delight as they rode into town. "Sire Gilles, do you see them?! Oh, look at those cute children," she went on, not letting him respond. "And that funny old man!"

"I could have been one of those funny old men, dear Sophie," Gilles noted quietly.

She only laughed, hopping out of the cart as soon as Belle pulled it to a stop along the side of the road. Despite her excitement, she hadn't forgotten why she was here.

"Tell you what—I'll get the ginger, and you can head over and pick out some chickens," she told Belle, who was now tying up their horses.

Belle looked concerned. "Are you sure?" she asked nervously.

"Oh yes, I've got Sire Gilles here with me," she explained. "Besides, this way we can get back quicker."

"Mmm…okay…" Belle agreed with clear reluctance.

Before she could change her mind, Sophie took off, wandering around for a while before locating a trader selling paints. Sire Gilles spoke for her, asking the man a dozen questions about the supplies before ultimately deciding to purchase some of everything.

Arms full of dozens of paints of different mediums and another handful of brushes, Sophie snuck behind one of the buildings. She looked to her right, then to her left—with no one in sight, she pulled back her helmet and proceeded to shove the supplies into each hollow arm.

"I don't like this," Gilles whispered nervously.

"Well, we can't have Belle see them—that would spoil the master's surprise!" she said in earnest.

"But what if someone sees _you_?"

As though on demand, a gasp rang out, and the two of them looked over to see a small child staring up at them with wide eyes. One arm halfway inside the suit at her neck, Sophie stood stone-still as panic swept over her.

Gilles reacted quicker. "You're next, sonny," he deadpanned, causing the child to screech and toddle off.

The two of them were silent for a long moment, before Gilles spoke again. "I'm…I'm pretty sure he was too young to talk."

Securing her helmet on quickly, Sophie made her way back to the busy square, anxious to get as far away from the kid as soon as possible in case Sire Gilles was wrong.

"Wow, what incredible armor!"

"Oh! Thank you," she said automatically, turning towards the stranger who had spoken.

A man stood before her, eyes growing wide in surprise, and Sophie's would have too if they could. _Sacre Dieu! I promised the master I wouldn't speak to anyone,_ she recalled nervously. If walking around a small town in a full suit of armor weren't a little odd already, a _woman_ in one would certainly draw suspicion.

The man's shock soon melted into a smile. "Well, I'll be," he said warmly. "A real Joan of Arc, no?"

Sophie froze, for once stunned into silence. That was _her_ line. _Who is this man?_ she wondered in amazement, finally taking a good look at him. He looked but a few years older than her, a head of sandy blond hair and short beard a shade darker to match. He was even taller than the armor she embodied, with a broad build and thick gloves covered in grease from his work.

 _Oh,_ she realized, feeling suddenly shy. _He's handsome…_

"Sorry," he was saying, mistaking her silence for offense. "I just—I own the smithy in here in town," he explained, nodding his head towards the shop across the street. "I usually deal with horseshoes, farm tools, a crude weapon here and there. Don't often get to see such fine craftsmanship."

"Wow, you own your own shop?" Sophie asked brightly.

He flushed, smiling a little as he rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah…it was just some good fortune, really. Went from apprentice to owner—my old master didn't have any children, and when he passed a few years ago he left the place to me, of all people."

"You must be so talented!" Sophie said sincerely. "I doubt he would have just left it to anyone."

"Oh…I don't know about that," he shrugged, though she could tell by the way his smile widened that he was flattered.

He had a great smile.

"Name's Henri," he went on, tugging off one of his gloves before offering a hand.

Sophie let him take hers, a quiet excitement in her chest as he placed a decent kiss on its surface. "Sophie," she replied sweetly, offering a short curtsy.

He seemed to redden further at that. "Um…what brings ya to Beaumont?" he asked, recovering. "Traveling?"

"Yes! _Traveling,"_ she said quickly, jumping at the offered excuse. "Just heading to, um…Molyneaux," she fibbed, figuring Belle's hometown was a fine enough choice.

"Molyneaux, huh?" he said with interest. "You're almost there, then. Used to take that route all the time, in fact."

"Really?" Sophie asked. "What for?"

"Well, my late wife used to work at the—" He stopped, glancing around nervously for a moment before going on. "She used to work in the area," he amended.

"Oh," Sophie said sadly, still caught up on his first few words. "I'm sorry…"

"Nah, don't worry about it. Been over a decade now," he said casually, though Sophie had been around enough people who'd experienced tragedy to hear the hurt behind his words.

"Did you…have any children?" she asked carefully.

"Had one. For a few months, anyway," he said quietly, looking away. "A little boy, but, um…I lost him soon after his mother."

 _How awful!_ Sophie thought, glancing at a bare ring finger. So he never remarried. _He must be terribly lonely,_ she realized.

"Geez, sorry," he grimaced, scratching the top of his head. "Didn't mean to give ya the whole sob story. Guess that's not very attractive," he said, before his cheeks flared once again. "I-I mean…not really what a girl—a _person_ wants to hear when they first, um, meet somebody…" He trailed off, sighing in defeat.

"No, no, it's all right," Sophie said earnestly. "I asked all the questions, after all. Everyone's always telling me to keep my mouth shut—but I guess I never really learned how."

He laughed a little, but it wasn't unkind. "Been told the same thing myself. Hey, tell ya what—I'd be happy to give your gear some maintenance while you're in Beaumont. No charge for the maiden in shining armor," he said, that warm smile returning.

Sophie laughed a little, though she was soon distracted by the thought of those strong hands running over her metal frame. _I_ _ **could**_ _use a good oil down,_ she thought mischievously.

A nervous _tap tap_ from Sire Gilles against her hip brought her back to reality. She shook her head; this wasn't the time for daydreaming. Besides the fact that there would definitely be a problem when Henri figured out she was _empty._ "I'm sorry, but…I just don't think we'll be in town long enough for that," she explained reluctantly.

"Oh, well, I understand," Henri said, pursing his lips before looking back at his shop. "I guess I better head back, but…would ya like to look at the wares, before you go? I do make a few original pieces, when I get the chance. Might find something to suit your fancy."

"…Okay," she agreed warmly, ignoring the nervous clinking of the sword at her belt. Sophie knew she didn't have a heart in her chest, but she could have sworn she felt _something_ as she followed Henri across the way. Something she knew better than to ignore.

* * *

Belle stood, surrounded by several cages containing the chickens she'd just purchased. She finally tugged back her hood, huffing for a moment to catch her breath after hauling them to their wagon. Just as she was about to lift the first into place, a young man approached.

"Let me help you with those, mademoiselle," he said earnestly, grabbing several of the cages and pulling them into the cart with ease.

"Merci," she said gratefully. "That's very thoughtful—"

"I'll help too," another boy said, jumping in to help before she could reply and grinning at her ear to ear.

"Oh, well, there's not that many," Belle explained. "I really think I'll be—"

"Croissant, mademoiselle?"

Belle stopped, a broad man in an apron standing before her and holding a tray of baked goods. "Oh," she said in surprise. "I don't know if I should—"

"No charge," he smiled.

"Well then, merci," she shrugged, taking the sample and turning back to wagon. Yet _another_ young man had approached, holding out a mug of some steaming drink and looking a little pink-cheeked.

"Warm milk on this cold day?" he asked shyly.

Belle raised a brow in suspicion, suddenly noticing several more men had started to help load her cart, another half dozen on their way over with various goods in hand.

"Hey, I was helping her first!" one of the boys cried out.

"You're too young for her, Pierre!"

"Oi! Move it! Let some of us talk to her too!"

Belle's eyes grew wide. _Are they talking about_ _ **me?**_ she thought, paling in embarrassment.

"You from around here?" someone was asking her.

"I'm from Molyneaux," she said absently, eyes scanning over their heads. _Sophie, where are you?_

"Molyneaux! That's not far," one of the men said excitedly.

"Man, why aren't the girls around _here_ that pretty?"

Another pushed his way to her side. "Mademoiselle, you—you wouldn't mind if I came by sometime and—" Before he could finish, someone had shoved him over, and it wasn't a moment later before a full-out brawl had broken out among them.

Belle stared at the scene is shock, mouth falling open in disbelief. She glanced back at the wagon, tempted to climb in and take off without a word. Instead, however, she placed two hands on her hips and cleared her throat.

" _Excuse_ me," she said firmly. "But this is no way to gain a woman's attentions."

The men all stopped at once. They stood slowly, bowing their heads in shame.

"Besides," she went on. "I'm—I'm already seeing someone," she said adamantly, though she felt herself flush at the admission.

A collective groan rang out among the men, and they slowly dispersed. "Figures," someone muttered. "The pretty ones are always taken."

Belle sighed, turning back to the wagon only to see Sophie now sitting atop, shoulders shaking with silent laughter. "Wow, Belle, I didn't realize you had so many admirers," she chuckled quietly.

Belle paled even further. "I doubt I would if they knew how odd I was," she muttered.

Sophie scoffed. "Odd is just another word for _interesting,"_ she said. "And _fun."_

Belle finally smiled again. "I still need to get some chicken feed," she explained, changing the subject. "Are you okay to wait here?"

"Oh course!" Sophie said with even more enthusiasm than normal, settling happily in place and looking over the busy streets.

 _She must be enjoying her time away from the palace,_ Belle thought warmly, moving back through the crowds.

"Hey, you're Belle, right?"

Belle looked up to see yet another man in her path, though he seemed a bit old for her. She sighed. "I'm sorry, Monsieur, but I'm—"

"Sophie's friend?"

Belle stopped. _Did Sophie talk to him?_ she wondered nervously. She must have, by the looks of it. "Well, yes, I am," she said honestly.

"Oh, good. I was just wondering," he started quietly. "Does Sophie…it's just, she wouldn't take off her helmet, and I didn't want to pry, but I was wondering if maybe…she's got scars, or somethin'?"

Belle blinked twice, taking a moment to register his words.

"I mean, I don't mind," he went on quickly. "She's got the sweetest voice, and it's been so long since I've felt—" He stopped quickly, clearing his throat.

"Well, um…" Belle started, unsure how to explain Sophie's predicament.

"You probably can't say, I get it," he conceded. "But could ya maybe give this to her for me?" he asked instead, pulling a narrow parcel from his hip and handing it over.

"Of course," Belle smiled, finally realizing what was going on. "Who should I say…?"

"Oh! Henri," he replied. "Henri Bollard."

Belle nodded. "I'll let her know," she said warmly.

"Great. Perfect. I—I'll just be off now," he said in haste, nodding and disappearing into the crowds.

When Belle returned to the wagon, Sophie cocked a head at her in amusement. "Oh, another gift from one of your admirers?" she laughed.

"Nope. From one of _yours,"_ Belle grinned, handing the small parcel over. "From a Henri Bollard."

Sophie was quiet, staring at the package for a moment before scanning the thick crowds. Looking back at the gift, she carefully untied the parcel's thin string and pulled the paper back. Inside, with a hand-carved handle, sat a long, sharp blade that Sophie slid out from its fine leather cover.

"Oh, a…knife?" Belle said uncomfortably. "That's…um…"

Sophie chuckled at Belle's confusion. "He's a blacksmith," she explained. "Let me look at some of the weapons he's crafted. I said this one was nice," she said warmly, before looking over at Belle. "He must really think I'm a warrior!" she laughed, staring back down at the gift with fondness.

"He must really _like_ you," Belle said slyly.

"Do you think so?" Sophie gasped. "I can't believe it—he was so cute! Didn't you think he was cute, Sire Gilles?"

"Very cute."

"He didn't even see me, though," Sophie went on. "Well, I mean…my human self. No, no, he was probably just being kind," she reasoned, even as she held the weapon in careful hands.

"Oh yes, I'm sure he gives his handcrafted wares away to _everyone_ he meets," Belle teased.

Sophie only giggled, bringing a hand to her metal face as if to hide an invisible blush and looking over the crowds once again.

Belle smiled—it was nice to see Sophie so excited. Though a small part of her worried how anything could really come of it.

 _You're courting Adam,_ she reminded herself. But at least he still _had_ a body. Sophie was an empty suit of armor; it was hard to imagine even the nicest of men being willing to accept a woman under those conditions. And besides, she knew Adam was hesitant to trust any outsiders.

Belle frowned. This whole curse was so cruel, for all of them. If only there was some way to undo it…

_"Fee-fi-fo-fum,_

_"I smell the blood of an Englishman,_

_"Be he alive, or be he dead,_

_"I'll have his bones to grind my bread!"_

The words of the story broke through her thoughts, and Belle looked up to see a small crowd gathering to hear one of her favorite tales.

"Oh, a storyteller!" Sophie exclaimed.

"Sire Gilles, do you think we have time to listen?" Belle asked eagerly.

"My dear, I've learned by now I have little say once either of you set your mind to something," he chuckled. "And we've just passed the winter solstice—should have a few extra minutes of sunlight."

Hopping out of the wagon, Belle and Sophie made their way to the back of the crowds as the storyteller finished the tale of _Jack and the Beanstalk_. It had always been one of Belle's favorites, and it added an element of excitement to hear it told by an expert narrator among dozens of other eager listeners.

Though she couldn't help but feel the voice sounded…strangely familiar.

As the tale concluded and the crowds dispersed, she and Sophie had just turned around when Belle sensed a presence behind them.

"Not going to cheat an old woman, are we dear?"

Turning around, Belle gasped. Before them stood the very same storyteller she'd met on the road home just a few weeks before. The one who had told her that awful tale she wished forever to forget. What was she still doing here?

Grimacing, Belle dug a hand into her cloak. "S-sorry," she stammered, dropping a coin in the woman's hand.

The storyteller smiled gratefully, pocketing the change. "I don't believe we've met—Madame Hélène, at your service."

"Belle," she said, furrowing her brows. "But Madame, we have met. On the Northern Pass?" she said with more than a little discomfort.

"Oh, goodness. I'm afraid I've quite forgotten. When was that, my dear?"

"…Just last month?" Belle reminded her awkwardly. "On the road to Molyneaux."

Madame Hélène cocked her head. "Mmm, that can't be right," she mused. "You see, I've only come from the South—been traveling those parts for months now, child."

Belle's eyes grew wide. "But you…you told me a story," Belle said with some desperation. "About a…a beast?" she explained, hating the word choice.

"A beast, mmm?" the woman hummed. "Do you mean _Le Petit Chaperon Rouge?_ Or perhaps even _Barbe bleue?_ Though the latter is a bit too frightening for some of my listeners," she chuckled.

"No, no…not those," Belle said nervously. This was _definitely_ the same woman she'd seen that day—same voice, same hair, same dimpled, wrinkled chin. She even carried the same knotted walking stick in her hand. Everything was the same… _except her eyes,_ Belle realized. Those were now a dull grey.

"It's all right," the woman went on kindly as Belle's face betrayed her confusion. "Us old folks do tend to look alike! Why, you certainly aren't the first to—"

Belle wasn't listening, the words the woman had spoken to her on the trail ringing in her ears.

 _"You be careful now, dear. Wouldn't want you falling prey to_ _**this** _ _forest's beasts."_

 _"Adam,"_ Belle breathed, ignoring Hélène's rambling as she turned towards the forested hills in the distance. "I-I'm sorry, I need to go!" she said in fear, cutting the woman off and sprinting back to the wagon.

Something wasn't right. That woman on the trail—there had definitely been something strange about her, but this discovery made those strange things suddenly sinister.

"Belle, what's wrong?" Sophie asked anxiously, following at her heels.

Belle jumped up to the wagon's seat, pulling Sophie in behind her before grabbing the reins. "It's that storyteller," she gasped, giving the reins a sharp snap and sending the horses galloping down the road. "No…the _other_ storyteller."

"The other storyteller?" Sophie asked in confusion. "What are you talking about?"

Belle ground her teeth hard. "She's a shapeshifter," she breathed in realization, looking back over at her friend with quaking eyes. "And she knows about Adam."

* * *

The fur on the back of his neck tingled, and for the third time that evening Adam spun on his toes, staring into the dark corridor behind him.

"Hello?" he asked roughly.

Silence.

He huffed, turning back around and picking up his pace as he swept through the palace. He'd thought he'd heard the wagon winding its way down the trail, and was anxious to see if Sophie had had any luck in the village. But as he strode through the grand halls and their lengthening shadows, he was unable to shake the feeling that someone was watching him.

Adam moved quickly past several tall windows, his massive form reflecting off their surfaces as darkness began to fall over the valley outside. Narrowing his eyes, he stopped abruptly in place.

For a split second too long, _something_ continued to move in the reflection beside him.

"Show yourself!" he ordered, spinning towards the clear glass and staring furiously into its surface.

Nothing was there, but for his own faint reflection and the dark forest beyond.

He growled nervously, grinding his teeth for a long moment before brushing his cloak aside and striding back down the hall.

"You're only fooling yourself, you know."

Adam froze again, heart flying into his throat.

"Come now, you asked me to show myself. So here I am."

She was right—he _had_ asked. But he was suddenly afraid of what he would see. "What did you mean…fooling myself?" Adam asked instead, feeling several heavy pulses shoot through his temple as he stood with his back to the window. A part of him knew he shouldn't talk back to the voices in his head, the people conjured up by a deranged mind…but at the same time, he couldn't help it.

"She just _pities_ you."

Adam swallowed roughly. "Who?" he asked, knowing full well the answer, just as he knew full well what he would see when he turned back to the glass.

The old woman stood there now, eyes still shrouded by her cloak, that unnerving smile gracing her lips. She looked like a ghost, body translucent in the faint reflection of the window's surface. "How could she _not_ pity you?" she prodded. "The fallen, orphaned prince, cursed as a child, life sought by the only family he had left," the vision sneered. "The poor girl's heart just can't _take_ it."

"Belle cares for me," he whispered, before sucking in a breath of confidence _. "Me,_ as I am."

"She's _indebted_ to you," the woman corrected, raising a thin, wiry finger in the air. "You gave her money, food, clothes, a home of luxury, a library and a mirror to take her everywhere she's dreamed to see," she reminded him. "What haven't you given her? What doesn't she owe you?"

"Belle owes me nothing," he said firmly.

"She knows no other way to repay you besides to give you _herself."_

Adam was silent for a heartbeat. "No," he breathed, feeling the desperation creep into his chest. "No, she wants to be with—"

"She'd do anything to help you—you know she would." The woman grinned wickedly. "Anything to _repay_ you."

"Stop—"

A short, amused bark escaped the old woman's lips. "What? Do you really think she _wants_ to be bed by a beast?!"

Adam shook his head roughly, taking a step back. "I-I would never—"

"How dis _gusting!"_ she cried, a terrible cackle ringing out from the glass and echoing down the empty hall.

"St-stop it!" he shouted, chest filling with a terrible shame. The laughter only grew in volume, and Adam turned away, claws digging into his scalp as he crouched against the dark stone floor.

 _It's just in your head,_ he told himself. _This isn't real. It's just in your head._

No, it couldn't be real. He knew his mind was simply playing tricks on him, just like it had with his mother. Yet...

 _Does Belle only pity me?_ he let himself wonder. _Does she feel…she_ _ **owes**_ _me?_

He hadn't considered it until now, but it suddenly made perfect sense. Why else would she agree to court a hideous creature like him? He should have known…he should have known it was too good to be true.

"You're pathetic," the voice spoke again.

He didn't say anything to that. No use contradicting the truth.

Instead, Adam sat in the dim hall, cowering like a frightened dog. _It's true,_ he realized, that old, familiar darkness Belle had driven away with her presence suddenly filling his heart once again. _I'm just fooling myself._

* * *

"Adam?!"

"Mademoiselle, whatever's the matter?"

Belle raced through the castle halls, eyes tearing through the darkness, heart pounding from the swift ride back and the fear of her new discovery. Lumiere hopped along at her heels, lighting her path.

"S-something's wrong," she gasped. "Where's Adam?"

"The master was upstairs not a half hour ago, mademoiselle," the maître d' explained in confusion. "He can't have gone far—"

Without another word, Belle raced towards the stairs, taking them two at a time and leaving the candelabra behind in her wake.

"Adam!" she shouted, gasping for breath as she reached one of the upper balconies. "Adam, where are—"

"Belle."

She turned around in a heartbeat. Adam stood in the archway behind her, though his eyes were cast to the floor. Belle rushed over, throwing her arms around him as far as they would go, burying her face in his chest.

"Thank goodness—I was so worried," she gasped.

Adam lifted a weak arm, barely returning the embrace. Confused, Belle pulled back, looking up him in concern.

He frowned, still not meeting her eyes. _Why isn't he asking what's wrong?_ she wondered nervously. Belle suddenly thought of the old woman on the trail, her bright red eyes in such contrast to the grey she'd seen in town. If the red-eyed storyteller was truly a shapeshifter…could she take on other forms too?

She looked back up him, chest flooding with panic. _Why isn't he_ _ **looking**_ _at me?_

"Adam," Belle said nervously, reaching out careful fingers to turn his face towards her. He didn't resist, a pained expression crossing his face for a brief moment. But he did look down at her—and his eyes _were_ still blue.

She let out a heavy breath of relief. "It _is_ you."

Adam looked confused, but it quickly passed as he dropped his gaze once again.

The worry returned to Belle's chest, but for a different reason. "Adam…what's wrong?"

His frown deepened, but he didn't reply.

"Did something happen?" she pressed. "Was…was someone here?"

His eyes grew wide at that, and he turned back quickly to face her. "What did you say?" he breathed.

The look on his face, the revelation in town—it all tumbled over her at once. "The storyteller," she gasped, gripping his shirt as the words spilled out. "I saw her again and I asked for the end of the story but I shouldn't have for it was such an _awful_ lie and then she was in Beaumont but it wasn't really her and her eyes were grey this time which means the _other_ one must have known about you and been a shape—"

"Belle, Belle—slow down," Adam said anxiously, finally lifting both paws to rest on her shoulders. "You're not making any sense. What storyteller?"

Belle suddenly remembered he had no idea who she was talking about. "She told us a tale in my village. About…about someone like you."

He scratched the fur on his chin. "I think you mentioned something about that when you first came. I was worried it might be the enchantress who told the tale, given you mentioned a rose, but when I asked about her you told me that the storyteller was…old…" Adam suddenly trailed off, a look of terror sweeping over his face.

"What is it?" Belle asked in fear.

Instead of replying, Adam grabbed her hand with one paw and a nearby candle with the other, starting quickly in the opposite direction from where she'd come. He led them through the dark, winding corridors, blue eyes darting between the shadows and tall windows lining the halls of the upper balcony. Belle barely managed to keep up, breathing a bit heavily as they finally stopped to stand before two grand doors.

Adam pushed them open quickly, revealing a large office decorated with reds and browns. From what Belle could see from the candle's small light, the walls were lined with shelves, filled with books from floor to ceiling. Even more were stacked haphazardly in several piles along the floor. She barely had a moment to take it in before she was led to the grand oak desk.

"Here," Adam said, pulling out the cushioned chair for her to sit in before tugging open one of the drawers. He snatched out a sheet of parchment, then started digging through another drawer for a piece of charcoal.

"What…?" Belle started, utterly confused.

"Can you draw her?" he asked, setting the materials down on the desk before her. "The old woman you saw."

Belle stared at him for a long moment, before nodding firmly. Though confused at his request, she trusted Adam enough by now to know he had a good reason for asking.

She began immediately, the light of the single candle illuminating her work, but was soon distracted by an irritating scratching sound beside her. Belle looked up—Adam hovered beside her, claws running over desk's fine oak and leaving small wooden shavings behind as his eyes fell unfocused on a point across the room.

"Adam," Belle whispered. He didn't respond, clearly consumed by whatever was bothering him. _"Adam,"_ she said a little louder, reaching over to stop his movement.

He jolted a bit, looking down where her fingers rested on his. He looked down at her, blinking rapidly. "Yes?"

"That's…kind of driving me crazy," she admitted.

"Oh, s-sorry," he said, clearing his throat and folding his paws behind his back. The sudden stillness of his claws, however, was almost immediately replaced by an absent brushing of his tail against the shelves behind them. Belle sighed, recognizing defeat and trying her best to focus on the drawing regardless.

She wasn't sure why the old woman's face had stuck in her mind so vividly. Perhaps it was the odd grin, or the look in her eye that suggested she knew more than she let on. Either way, Belle soon had a fair representation on the parchment before them. Looking up, she realized Adam was staring at the drawing in horror.

"What is it?" she asked anxiously.

He reached for the sketch in silence, lifting it carefully from the desk and continuing to stare at it in shock. "What…what color were her eyes?" he finally managed.

"They…well, they were red, actually," she admitted. "And strangely beautiful. I'd never seen anything like it."

Adam sucked in a loud breath, but didn't reply as he set the page back down and moved across the room. He paced the rug beside the cold hearth once, twice, then stopped, staring at a tall mirror leaning heavily against the wall. He reached out, resting his fingers against the glass for a long moment before pulling his paw back and forming a tight fist.

"I thought I was seeing things," he said to himself.

"Seeing things?" Belle asked anxiously, moving across the room and reaching for his fisted hand. "What are you talking about?"

"I thought I was going mad…" he breathed. "But it was her—all along, it was _her."_

The way he said the word was enough. _The enchantress,_ Belle realized. _He's talking about the enchantress._ Of course, she should have seen it herself. What other person both knew about Adam and could possibly be capable of shapeshifting? It made perfect sense, after all. The enchantress had changed the forms of everyone who lived here—what would stop her from changing her own?

Belle recalled the storyteller she'd met on the trail. The witch must have stolen Madame Hélène's form and been using the position to spread fear about Adam to those in the surrounding villages. But why?

_"The Beast held a dark secret. A secret the young woman would only learn of…once it was too late."_

Belle frowned. It had been a frightening tale, indeed. Frightening enough that, had she heard the entire story before first meeting Adam…she may never have trusted him to begin with.

 _She was trying to scare me away,_ Belle realized. _She was trying to scare everyone away—to ensure that anyone who happened upon this place would flee, leaving Adam and the others isolated here forever._

 _But why?_ she wondered again. Wasn't a curse enough?

Whatever the witch's reasons, Belle was immensely grateful she'd skipped the end of the tale that early autumn night. _Though the story_ _ **was**_ _wrought with inconsistencies,_ she recalled. _Perhaps I would have seen through it then as well._ She hoped so, though she could never know now.

 _"Fooling myself,"_ Adam was saying under his breath. He huffed. "Well…I _have_ been a fool, that's for sure."

Belle shook herself from her thoughts, glancing back towards the drawing across the room before up at him. "So you've seen her too? Here, in the castle?"

He nodded slowly. "A few weeks ago…and again, tonight."

"A few weeks ago?" Belle frowned. "But…why didn't you tell me?"

He was silent for a long, still moment. "They called her insane," he breathed at last. "My mother. Said she should be sent away to the city."

Belle thought of the time Gaston had threatened the same for her own father. She knew too well the reputation of the _Maison des Lunes—_ and she doubted the asylums in Paris were much better.

Adam grimaced, looking back over at her. "I guess…I guess I was nervous if I told you I was seeing things, you might…"

"Leave?" Belle guessed sadly.

He cast his eyes aside. "I'm sorry," he said in shame. "…I guess I really am pathetic."

"What?" Belled asked, frowning. "Who told you you were—"

"Wait a minute," he said suddenly. He was staring back at the mirror, a fresh look of terrified realization crossing his face. "If _I_ was truly seeing the enchantress this whole time…"

Belle's eyes grew wide. "Then your mother was too," she breathed.

He turned back slowly towards her. "M-my God…her death was never an accident, was it?"

Belle's heart caught in her throat. If Adam was right about this being the enchantress, than that meant _she_ had been the one the queen saw the night she disappeared. She had been the one to lead his mother into the woods that winter night. _Queen Jacqueline was murdered,_ Belle realized in silent horror.

"All this time…all this time I thought she'd been sick…" Adam stopped, growling under his breath. He brought a paw to his temple, claws digging into his scalp, his other hand quaking in her grip. Belle had seen Adam upset before, but this was different. This was anger. She wasn't afraid, though—in truth, Belle would have been more concerned if he _didn't_ react this way.

They stood in silence for a long time as Adam clearly struggled to make sense of it all. Belle wondered if he were holding back tears, but she didn't say anything as she brushed a quiet hand across his arm.

"I'm sorry," he said at last, finally looking back over at her. "You shouldn't have to worry about this, Belle, not after…"

 _Losing Maman,_ she realized. "Of course I'm going to worry about it, Adam," she said softly. _I care about you._

He pursed his lips, looking away as though deep in thought once again. "If my mother wasn't seeing things…then maybe _you_ were never sleepwalking," he said suddenly.

Belle thought of the dream of her own mother, gripping her hand and leading her with an uncharacteristic urgency through the strange gardens. To a rose whose importance was now very certain, though the reasons why remained a mystery in Belle's mind.

"S-sacrebleu," she said in fear. "Was that the enchantress too?!"

"Perhaps," Adam said darkly. "…Did you ever see her eyes?"

Belle thought for a long moment. "No, she…she wouldn't look at me directly," she realized, feeling sick.

They stood in silence again, their quiet thoughts filling the darkness. _Have we simply jumped to conclusions?_ Belle wondered. Yet the more she thought about it…the less likely any other scenario seemed.

"This doesn't make any sense," Adam said, shaking his head roughly. "She shouldn't be trying to stop me from…I mean, she's the one who _told_ me to…" He trailed off, grinding his teeth. "And now she's come to you. Oh God, what kind of danger have I put you in, Belle?" he asked, eyes wide in fear.

"Adam…"

"Perhaps…" He stopped, sucking in a breath through his teeth. "P-perhaps you should—"

"I _won't_ leave you," Belle said sternly.

Strangely, his expression seemed to fall at that. "Belle," he started. His eyes looked sad and almost…confused. "Do you…do you only pity me?"

"What?" she breathed.

"Is that why you're still here? Is that why you agreed to…" He grimaced, looking down at their joined hands.

"No," Belle said firmly, starting to understand. "I mean, as much as I hate everything that's happened to you…that's not why I'm here. I'm here because…" She flushed, suddenly embarrassed. She didn't know why—it wasn't as though her feelings were exactly a secret anymore. "B-because…I'm happy here," she admitted. "Here, with you."

Despite the ineloquence of her response, Adam's ears perked up at it.

"Besides," Belle went on, recovering. "You should know by now I won't do anything I don't want to do."

A hint of a smile crossed his face. "That's true," he conceded with some amusement. "And you'll _do_ whatever you want to do, likewise."

Belle finally smiled herself. She couldn't argue with that.

"Just…please know you don't owe me anything," he went on seriously, swallowing roughly. "Know that I don't…I don't _expect_ anything. At all."

Belle nodded. He could have meant a number of things—and perhaps he did—but he hadn't needed to say it for her to know. She trusted Adam in more ways than one, and she knew without a doubt he wasn't the kind of person to take advantage of her.

As his arms finally wrapped around her like she'd been longing for since her return, the frantic beating of Belle's heart finally seemed to calm. Despite all the terrible revelations of the past hour, she let herself relax in his embrace, if just for a moment.

"You're my best friend," she whispered, feeling emboldened by everything that had been said.

"Mine too," Adam said without hesitation. He paused briefly, but went on. "…My very beautiful best friend."

"O-oh, Adam!" she cried, flushing profusely as she pulled back and pressed her hands against burning cheeks.

"Sorry, can I say that now?" he asked honestly. "I've always wanted to…it just seemed as though you didn't like it."

 _He'd always wanted to?_ she thought, burying her face back against him to hide her blush. "I…I don't mind if _you_ say it," she admitted shyly. "I guess it just bothered me when that was all people saw…or when it was all I was valued for," she explained quietly. She felt gentle fingers brush against her back as she went on. "And whenever Gaston would say it…well, let's just say he usually wasn't looking at my face," she said with discomfort.

Adam growled. "You know…I'm serious about locking that bastard away in the tower."

 _"Adam,"_ Belle said sternly, scolding him for his profanity.

"Sorry," he said. _"…He_ _ **is**_ _though,"_ he added under his breath.

"Let's just worry about the enchantress for now," Belle went on. "In fact…we should probably tell the others what we've discovered."

He nodded, sighing. "And here I thought we were going to have a normal Christmas."

"We still will," she assured him, grinning. "Gingerbread and all."

For some reason, Adam looked a little sheepish at that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is probably the wrong crowd for this, but for any other Fullmetal Alchemist fans out there, yes—Alphonse Elric was definitely an inspiration for Sophie's character!


	14. Chapter 13

“She’s been trying to _stop_ the mademoiselle from breaking the curse?”

“It would appear so,” Adam huffed.

“But… _why?”_ Cogsworth asked in disbelief.

“I don’t know! I’ve been asking myself that ever since we figured this out.”

They were quiet for a long minute, before Lumiere spoke up. “Perhaps…perhaps the enchantress doesn’t feel the girl is right for you?” he tried. “Though of course, that’s _ridicule_ ,” he added quickly.

“Ridiculous is right—on two accounts. One, that witch couldn’t care less about my happiness,” Adam said gruffly, before holding up a second finger. “Two, Belle is flawless.”

Despite the seriousness of the discussion, Lumiere cracked a grin.

“Well, I have to say I’m not surprised,” Mrs. Potts said straightly. The three men looked at her in confusion. “She made it nearly impossible to break the spell as it was, did she not?” the woman asked. “What with keeping you trapped here, and preventing us from even telling the girl the spell _can_ be broken, and—well, don’t take this the wrong way, love, but your changes certainly weren’t going to make it a piece of cake.”

“That’s certainly true,” Adam admitted, crossing his arms over his chest and pouting towards a spot across the room. “But why would the enchantress give me an out when she never intended to let me take it?”

“Because she’s _insane?”_ Cogsworth said dryly.

Adam opened his mouth to reply, but closed it again. “Actually…that would explain a lot.”

A quiet tapping came from the door, followed by a muffled voice from the other side. “Can I come back in now?”

“Just a minute, mademoiselle!” Lumiere called out.

Outside, Belle fell back into a small chair in the hall, where she’d excused herself when it was apparent that every few words into the discussion someone was unable to say exactly what they had wished to in her presence. _I’m going to figure it out,_ she thought firmly. She already knew the secret they couldn’t share had something to do with the curse, and something to do with outsiders—such as herself—who couldn’t be told anything about it. And of course, that strange, glowing rose.

_“It determines how long—”_

Adam had managed that much before his words were cut off. So the rose determined how long…until what?

“Hey.” Belle looked up—Adam had pulled the door open, grimacing a bit. “Sorry. You can come back now.”

Belle hopped out of her seat, reaching for his outstretched hand. “I’m onto you all, you know,” she declared, taking a seat beside him in the large sitting room where the others were still gathered.

An almost…amused look crossed Adam’s face. “I certainly hope so,” he said quietly, brushing a large thumb across her wrist and the back of her hand. He was still looking at their hands when his face suddenly contorted in fear. “Hold on,” he gasped, looking her up and down. Not in the way Gaston would, for his eyes didn’t linger anywhere they shouldn’t—but as if he were searching for something out of place. His eyes met hers again. “When you met the enchantress on the trail…did she do anything besides than talk to you?” he asked nervously.

Belle was about to respond in the negative, but stopped as she thought back to the interaction. She recalled the woman’s wrinkled fingers encasing her own, a grip far too strong for one so old. “I suppose she _did_ touch my hand,” Belle admitted.

She’d barely said the words when Adam took her arm in both paws, turning it over several times as if examining one of the horse’s hooves for tacks. “Cogsworth, call for the doctor,” he ordered, turning back to the others. “Maybe he can—”

“I’m all right,” Belle interrupted. “Really. It doesn’t hurt at all.”

“But…but what if you were…” Adam trailed off, biting his lower lip as he always did when he was nervous. Belle could tell from the way he glanced over himself and the animated objects beside them what he meant.

Belle felt a moment of fear, but logic soon calmed her mind. “It was over a month ago,” she reasoned. “I’m sure if she cursed me, it would’ve already happened by now.”

Adam didn’t look convinced. “Mine took two years to begin,” he said anxiously, her arm still resting in his paws as though he held something terribly fragile. Belle decided it was probably best not to mention how she’d actually _hugged_ the woman when she appeared in her mother’s form. The memory now left her feeling queasy, and she pushed the thought quickly away.

They were quiet for a long moment before Mrs. Potts spoke. “I agree with Belle, Master,” she said firmly. “Your transformation was unique, linked directly to your growth. I don’t see how—or why—such a delay would occur had she wished Belle harm.”

Adam hummed, returning Belle’s arm to her lap, though not before wrapping his own around her shoulders. Perhaps, had it been anyone else, Belle would have thought he was overreacting. But considering he’d just discovered the true reason for his mother’s death…well, she couldn’t exactly blame him for being protective.

Belle frowned deeply, suddenly burning to ask another question but anxious to bring it up at such a time.

“What is it?” Adam asked.

Belle sighed—she really never had learned to conceal her emotions well. “I just…I don’t understand,” she started quietly. “Why did the enchantress do all of this in the first place? Why…why hold such a violent vendetta against your parents, and for so long?”

Adam’s nose wrinkled at the corners, as though he’d just smelled something foul. “They did nothing wrong,” he said defensively, though Belle sensed it wasn’t directed at her. “My parents—they were betrothed, and that witch came out of nowhere and attacked my mother.”

Belle narrowed her eyes. Something about that story didn’t sit right—or, at least, she sensed a piece was missing.

“My father defeated her, however, and banished her from the kingdom,” Adam went on, before turning to the others. “Isn’t that right—” He stopped. Belle looked around, watching as the teapot, candelabra, and clock all seemed to sag at once, looking away in shame.

Adam’s eyes grew wide. “That’s right…isn’t it, Mrs. Potts?”

The woman sighed deeply. “I’m afraid that’s not _entirely_ true, dear,” she confessed.

Adam was still for a heartbeat. Then two. “What…do you mean by that?” he asked carefully, as though unsure he wanted to hear the answer.

Mrs. Potts glanced to the others. Lumiere was frowning deeply, and Cogsworth only shrugged.

“Well,” she began. “While it’s true your father was betrothed at the time…your mother was not.”

* * *

_“Presenting His Highness, Prince Alexandre of France and his betrothed, Prinzessin Frida von Preussen.”_

_The crowded throneroom broke into applause, and Prince Alexandre smirked, glancing over at the young woman to his right. She was beautiful, foreign, and would make him an excellent wife. At least, he assumed so—he hadn’t exactly spoken with her yet. In fact, he wasn’t even sure if the woman spoke French._

“Discourse is optional in a marriage,” _his father had told him after announcing the arrangement._ “Especially given the political benefits of such a union. Your marriage could be key to peace along our borders.”

_Alexandre had accepted his duty without argument. He had more important concerns, anyway—mainly his swordsmanship, his studies, and his growing responsibilities in managing the kingdom. While much of his elderly father’s obsession with power had worn off on the prince, Alexandre already had a host of ideas for changing things once he gained the throne._

_“Pleased to meet you, my prince,” a voice spoke, and Alexandre looked over to his fiancé, curtsying deeply before him. Her long, light hair was braided into an elaborate up-do, several red roses woven throughout._

_He bowed in turn, as was custom. “And you, Prinzessin Fri—” He stopped abruptly as she looked up, deep red eyes staring at him intently_. Odd, _he thought, though he shook it off—he’d never seen a Prussian before. Perhaps that was normal._

_“You speak French?” he asked, recovering._

_She laughed lightly. “Oh yes, Prince Alexandre. I speak a dozen languages.”_

_“Oh,” he said in surprise. “Well, good.”_

_She looked over the crowds, now chatting happily throughout the grand room. “They must think themselves quite important to be in **our** company,” Frida said, the corner of her mouth turning up in self-righteous amusement. _

_“I’m certain of it. I still cannot fathom why every last countryside baron needed to be here,” Alexandre scoffed, looking back over the crowds. His heart stopped suddenly, a pair of bright blue eyes catching his before glancing away. He hadn’t a chance to see who they belonged to before they disappeared into the crowds._

Huh, _he thought, a strange feeling in his chest as he turned back to his bride-to-be. Frida now held a single rose in one hand, plucked from her light curls. “A gift, Your Highness,” she said sweetly, tucking the sharp stem through one of the button holes in his jacket._

_“Ah…well, merci,” he said indifferently. He offered her his arm, guiding them down the steps to offer the customary greetings to their guests._

_Being in Frida’s company was intoxicating—literally. The prince felt his mind growing foggy, a pleasant but overpowering scent washing over him in her presence. He soon grew used to the sensation, however, finding eyes only for her as he spoke forgotten words to their guests._

_“Congrats, brother!” someone boomed, and Alexandre found himself being pulled away from Frida’s side and out on one of the balconies overlooking the garden. He frowned irritably, the pleasant feelings of being near her vanishing in an instant as the cool nighttime breeze cleared his senses._

_“Victor. I thought you weren’t going to make it,” he said dryly. More like hoped._

_“She’s some broad, huh?” Victor said through slurred speech, digging a sharp elbow into Alexandre’s side and nearly spilling the contents of his glass across his blouse._

He’s drunk, _the elder prince realized, trying not to roll his eyes at his brother’s irritating antics. The celebration had barely started it seemed—had Victor already been inebriated upon arrival? Alexandre wouldn’t have been surprised. “Well, I’m certain she’ll fill the position well enough,” he said blandly, his feelings for the woman suddenly gone as quickly as they’d appeared. He looked over the gardens below, then to a descending stairwell to his left. “I’m going for a walk,” he stated, moving away a moment before Victor’s drink left the contents of its container entirely._

_Alexandre walked slowly through the rows of flowers, breathing in the evening summer air in an attempt to fully clear his head. Regaining himself, he noticed he wasn’t the only one seeking refuge among the plants._

_“Who’s there?” he asked gruffly, irritated by the interruption to his solitude._

_A figure emerged from the shadows, those same blue eyes he’d caught earlier glowing in the darkness. “Your Highness,” the woman said calmly, curtsying low to the ground before looking back up at him. Though she followed all the proper forms, he sensed a lack of the adoration most other woman—or anyone, for that matter—exuded in his presence._

_He raised a brow, his irritation melting into curiosity. “Who are you?”_

_“Jacqueline, daughter of Baron D’Aureville, my prince.”_

_“Oh,” Alexandre scoffed, unimpressed. The mere daughter of some unknown baron, thinking she had the right to wander his gardens?_

_“Congratulations,” she offered, ignoring his rudeness. “Princess Frida is very beautiful.”_

_“Yes, she is,” he said curtly, his prejudice preventing him from seeing the natural beauty of the woman before him._

_“I could say the same about these gardens,” she went on, glancing fondly at the roses lining the path where they stood. “They must offer a wonderful respite from one’s daily cares.”_

_“Mm,” the prince grunted._ More so when I’m uninterrupted, _he was tempted to say._

_Jacqueline narrowed her eyes, as though reading his thoughts. “Forgive my intrusion, Your Highness,” she said, curtsying again and moving past him towards the palace. The prince huffed, yet found himself glancing back just as she passed through the archway leading inside. He had that strange feeling in his chest again, but ignored it as he shoved his hands in his pockets and moved hurriedly through the gardens._

* * *

_It was only the next morning that he saw her again, standing before one of the grand murals. Jacqueline gazed upon it with a softness in her eyes he rarely witnessed in these halls._

_His legs had moved him beside her before he could stop them. “A beautiful piece, no?” he asked._

_“It is, Your Highness,” she said simply, merely glancing over at him before looking back at the painting above them._

_Alexandre frowned, suddenly bothered by the lack of attention she gave him. Had he been more self-aware, he might have realized it had something to do with his behavior the night before. “You must not have the opportunity to see such masterpieces where you’re from,” he said, his attempt at conversation still spoiled by his inherent pride._

_“Quite the contrary,” she said plainly, a hint of mirth in her eyes. “I’ve visited many of the great homes. And I’m afraid yours is not the grandest in terms of its art—I’ve yet to locate even one Caravaggio.”_

_The prince’s mouth fell open, unable to respond in his shock at her utter bluntness. Before he could speak, one of the servants moved past them—a middle-aged woman, streaks of grey throughout her mousy brown hair, decked in an apron and bonnet as she pushed a rickety tea tray across the floor._

_“Mrs. Potts,” Jacqueline said kindly. The woman stopped, curtsying deeply before them as she acknowledged her prince nervously. “How is your daughter this morning?” Jacqueline asked._

_“On the mend I believe, mademoiselle.”_

_“I’m so glad. I should very much like to meet her before we depart, if you would allow it. From what you’ve told me, she sounds like a wonderful girl.”_

_“Oh! That’s very kind of you, my dear. Very kind,” the woman replied, clearly pleased. “Yes, I’m sure Virginie would be more than happy to meet a young woman of your accomplishment.”_

_“I’m afraid she may be disappointed,” Jacqueline confessed. “I’m not all that accomplished.”_

_Mrs. Potts only laughed. “Just what I’d expect an accomplished lady to say,” she winked, any nerves she’d displayed before now completely gone. She curtsied again and continued on her way._

_Alexandre, now thoroughly perplexed, looked back at Jacqueline. “How do you know her?” he asked incredulously._

_“Oh, she gave me the most wonderful cup of tea on our first morning here,” Jacqueline said sincerely, gazing back at the mural._

_A new feeling swept over the prince, but unlike before, this one was unpleasant._ Shame? _he wondered, realizing that in over two decades of life, he had never even bothered to ask the servant her name, not to mention inquire after her family. To be honest, the idea that the people serving him even had families to worry about was one he’d never entertained, though of course it was obvious now that he thought about it._

_He frowned, uncomfortable with the sense of inferiority he suddenly felt from the woman beside him. From a **baron’s** daughter. _

_The prince felt that discomfort for the remaining fortnight, the festivities and political dealings with the foreign royals not enough to distract him from his thoughts. He saw little of his betrothed; or perhaps he couldn’t recall the times he did. Things did seem to grow…fuzzy, when she was near. Though perhaps that was due to all the wine being forced down his throat during the constant celebrations. That would certainly explain the daily hangovers. He couldn’t recall ever being so exhausted in his entire life._

_He did, however, recall the single rose Frida tucked into his vest front each time they met. He found it a bit odd, but decided to entertain the woman—there were certainly stranger fetishes out there, after all._

_As for Jacqueline…he went to great lengths to avoid her. In fact, Alexandre found himself taking odd routes through the palace in order to do so, yet to his dismay the woman never seemed to stay in one spot. He would often round a corner, only to see her gazing upon another mural or tapestry, or worse yet, speaking in familiarity with one of his servants. The prince eventually found a convoluted but safe route to the grand hall that ventured through those corridors free of art—which he quickly learned Jacqueline had little interest in._

_At last, the celebrations ended, and Princess Frida returned to Prussia, to return in some months for the wedding. Early in the morning following her departure, Alexandre sat brooding in his study, unable to sleep as thoughts of Jacqueline continued to flood his mind. He was starting to worry—he shouldn’t have thought of her so much, yet the more he tried not to, the more he did._

_“She irks me,” he grumbled to himself, pouting as he looked out the window and over the forest below. He knew it was a lie, but it made him feel better to say it anyway._

_A moment later, he heard the door creak open, looking up to see a woman—Mrs. Potts, he recalled—move into the room and pick up an old tea tray. She didn’t see the prince there until she turned around, eyes growing wide in surprise when she did._

_“Your Highness! M-my apologies,” she stuttered, bowing deeply and nearly dumping the used tray to the floor._

_The prince raised a hand. “It’s no trouble.” He paused, watching as she stood nervously, clearly waiting to be dismissed. “…Mrs. Potts, was it?” he asked._

_The woman seemed to pale even further. “Y-yes, my prince.”_

_Alexandre bit his lip, but went on. “You’ve worked here for many years, have you not?”_

_“Oh, yes. Nearly fifteen, I believe.”_

_“Where are you from?” he asked, having noticed her accent._

_“Sussex county in England,” she replied warmly, her nerves seeming to calm. “But my husband was French.”_

That’s unusual, _the prince thought. Even more unusual that she’d kept her maiden name. “Does he work here?” he went on, truly curious._

_“No, Your Highness. He…he passed during the war.”_

_“Oh. I’m sorry.” Alexandre was quiet for a moment, in awe of how much he had learned in the space of a minute. He cleared his throat. “Well, we are all truly indebted to his service,” he said sincerely, if awkwardly, turning back towards the window. Behind him, Mrs. Potts only smiled, bowing again before hurrying quickly from the room._

_As Alexandre stared out over the woods, yet another feeling flooded his chest. It was warm, and he couldn’t help the small smile that broke out over his face._ I’ll have to do that more often, _he thought, deciding thoughts of Jacqueline might not be such a bad thing after all._

_The prince wasn’t sure how long he’d been daydream **—thinking,** when his thoughts were interrupted by the sound of carriages rolling past his window. Standing quickly, he looked down, noticing the crowds of remaining noblemen and their families as they took their leave of the castle. _

_The very woman he’d been avoiding was now leaving, just when he wished her to stay._

_Not really thinking about what he was doing, he ran around his desk, knocking a stack of parchment to the ground as he raced towards the gates. For once in his life, he cursed the castle and its enormity, finding himself completely winded by the time he reached the front steps._

_“Have you…have you seen…the baron?” he asked one of the guards outside, leaning against a pillar to catch his breath._

_The man’s eyes grew wide—no doubt in shock that the prince himself was speaking to him. “The—the b-baron, Your Highness?” he asked in understandable confusion, considering a dozen barons now stood in the courtyard._

_“The Baron of…oh, what was it,” Alexandre huffed, glancing around the carriages in search of Jacqueline. He finally spotted her near the end of the line, several footman securing her family’s parcels to a—in his opinion—rather humble carriage for their journey. Jacqueline looked up, furrowing her brows ever so slightly as he moved towards them._

What am I doing? _Alexandre thought, unable to stop his feet as they placed him before them. He bowed, and the woman followed with a curtsy of her usual graciousness, though the confusion in her eyes didn’t leave._

_“My prince!” an older man said, bowing even deeper than his daughter as his wife followed suit._

_“Baron…Baron D’Aureville, is it?” Alexandre asked, thanking his memory for finally coming through._

_“Yes, Your Highness,” the baron replied. He was a stout man with the same shining blue eyes as his daughter. His wife seemed to share her smile._

_Alexandre swallowed, knowing he looked disheveled, but for once in his life not really caring. “My apologies, Baron, Baroness,” he said. “I just…you cannot leave. Not yet.”_

_The couple looked utterly confused, though Jacqueline only raised a brow. “And why not, Your Highness?” she asked in amusement._

_“Because…” He trailed off, clearing his throat loudly, scrambling for some kind of excuse that he really should have come up with before now. “Because…of the program.”_

_“The…program, my prince?” the baron asked in bewilderment._

_“Yes. The program. The Program for…Advancing the Education…of French Noblewomen.”_ Yes, that sounds good, _he thought in triumph, raising a finger. “The PAEFN, as it’s more commonly known.”_

_If Jacqueline’s brow rose further, Alexandre ignored it._

_“Oh dear, I’m afraid I’m unfamiliar with that ordinance,” the baron said seriously._

_“Yes, well, it’s quite important,” the prince fibbed, in far too deep to turn back now. “You see, it requires that we host a young noblewoman each summer to further her education in the arts.”_

_“Oh my, that sounds quite modern!” the baroness said excitedly._

_“Ah, you see, I’m a bit of a liberal—drives my father crazy,” Alexandre went on, to the laughter of the gentleman and his wife. Jacqueline only stared at him like he had gone mad._

_He cleared his throat again. “As it is, we would like to invite your daughter to participate…should she desire to,” he finished nervously, daring a glance back at her._

_“I…I’m grateful for the offer, Your Highness,” she said slowly, still clearly suspicious of his motives. “But I’m afraid I’ve already studied most of your paintings during our time here. Surely another would benefit more.”_

_Alexandre felt his heart sink into his stomach for a moment before he brightened._ Of course! _“But you have not visited the library,” he said in earnest. “We have quite the collection of art history texts, should you find that beneficial.”_

_At last, Jacqueline’s eyes brightened to their usual splendor. “You do?”_

_Chest swelling in victory, the prince nodded. “Oh yes—for what the castle lacks in suitable art, we more than make up for in literature,” he explained, before getting a new idea. “In fact, at the end of her studies, the PNEAF candidate shall—”_

_“You mean PAEFN, my prince?” Jacqueline asked, barely concealing a smirk._

_“Yes, that—she shall have the privilege of selecting the next piece to adorn our walls.”_

_“What an honor!” her mother gasped as the baron beamed beside her._

_“Perhaps she will select a Caravaggio?” Alexandre teased, grinning at the blush that crossed Jacqueline’s face._

_“…Perhaps,” she agreed as she recovered, looking back towards her father. “May I stay, Papa?”_

_“I am not one to refuse such an offer,” he said happily. “Your mother can remain as your escort—I must return on business.” He moved over, and the prince was shocked as the man held his daughter in his arms for a long moment. “I always knew you would go far,” he whispered, kissing her on the cheek as he pulled away and embraced the baroness. The prince had stopped breathing—never having seen such affection given in public._

_Never having received such affection since he was a small child._

_The next morning, the prince finished writing up the ordinance he’d made up the day before, signing and tucking it safely in one of the drawers._ In case father asks, _he thought absently. His father’s thoughts on the matter were of little concern as it was, given the king would be traveling until his wedding at the end of the summer. And by then, Jacqueline would be long gone._

 _Alexandre frowned._ Surely I’ll tire of her company by then, _he thought, satisfied as he shut the drawer and moved towards the armory._

_He spent his days as usual—training with Sire Gilles, dealing with the diplomatic matters his father had assigned to him (and those his younger brother had ignored), studying in the library. The latter, however, seemed to be crowding out his other tasks more and more as the summer wore on and his desire to be near a certain woman consumed him._

_In fact, though the two of them spoke little, he found himself listening quietly and carefully to the conversations Jacqueline had with everyone else. Alexandre had always been a quick learner, and soon had a mental list of the things she thought to ask each new acquaintance—things about their family, where they were from, their occupation, their interests. She never assumed things, never patronized, and only seemed to speak of herself when asked. Alexandre found the latter particularly intriguing. Even more intriguing, each interaction seemed to leave the other party glowing, for Jacqueline always found something kind to say before letting the other depart._

_Alexandre observed this with the same sense of inadequacy he’d felt before—but instead of bitterness, he felt a new determination awake inside him. And suddenly, he realized that something needed to change._

* * *

_“Forgive me Father…for I have sinned.”_

_Cardinal Marius glanced through the screen with raised brows, surely surprised by who he saw, but the man only nodded. “Welcome, my son. Please speak freely. The Lord welcomes all who come to Him.”_

_“All right,” Alexandre said dumbly, clearing his throat. “So…well, to be honest, I’ve finally realized I’m an absolute ass.”_

_The cardinal pursed his lips at the prince’s vulgarity, but waited patiently for him to continue. Alexandre spoke nervously at first, but finally found himself telling the man everything._

_“I always thought I was more important that everyone else,” he was saying some time later. “But, lately, someone’s shown me I was wrong. How I’ve acted, who I’ve become…I’m ashamed of myself,” he admitted quietly, thinking of the way Jacqueline treated others and how much he still had to learn to be like that._

_“Guilt can be a gift, my son,” Marius explained. “It helps us know when we have strayed from the true path. But we should never let it chain us down—once forgiven, one must be ready to forget the past, as the Lord forgets our sins.”_

_“I’m ready to change,” Alexandre said earnestly. “But I still feel I must do something to make up for what I was.”_

_He thought he caught the Cardinal smiling through the grated screen. “Well, besides confessing before God, it is always good to make things right with those we have offended here on Earth. Do you think you can do this?”_

_Alexandre bit his lip, but only nodded. “Yes. I can.”_

* * *

_“You have a daughter, Mrs. Potts?”_

_“Yes, my lord. Helps me in the kitchens…when she can.”_

_Alexandre hummed, remembering something being said about the girl’s poor health. “Has she seen the castle physician?” he asked._

_“Oh! Oh no, my prince. The village doctor tends to her, when he can.”_

_Alexandre frowned. Those so-called medicine men were nothing more than thieves in his opinion. He’d never trust his own children to them, had he any. Did servants of the royal palace really not have access to better care? Even beyond the newfound concern in his heart, Alexandre could certainly see the benefit to having a healthy staff—and servants without sick children to worry about._

_“I’ll send Docteur Mathius to see her this afternoon,” he said straightly. “You need not trouble the village man further.”_

_“Oh,” Mrs. Potts breathed, clearly in shock. “Oh, thank you…thank you, Your Highness. But I don’t know how we can repay—”_

_“It’s the least I can do after fifteen years of loyal service,” he said honestly. “Especially after the way I’ve…” he trailed off, suddenly bathed in anxiety. How did one go about making amends with a person you’d treated like dirt for years? He stared at his shoes, trying to find the words he should say._

_“Your Highness,” Mrs. Potts said warmly after a minute of silence. “If I may be…bold?”_

_He only nodded, eyes not leaving the floor._

_“Well, I suppose it must have been hard losing a mother so young,” she started carefully. When he didn’t respond, she went on. “You need not feel too many…regrets, my prince. You’re still young yourself, you know. There’s plenty of time to change.”_

_Had his thoughts been that obvious? “Well…I still should have known better,” he replied quietly._

_“Oh, we all say that in retrospect,” she smiled. He finally looked up, and no longer saw the nameless figure who brought in quiet trays each evening, but another person—separated by circumstance—but a person all the same. And one who, he realized, was really quite kind._

_Instilled with new confidence, the prince continued in his efforts. Considering any past interactions with his servants had consisted of rough orders, barks of irritation, or more often than not, no interaction at all, there was no getting around the awkwardness of his quest. But Alexandre was determined—and soon he found a strange thrill in each conversation. And with each new person he spoke with, the castle that had been cold and heartless all these years seemed to spring forth with life._

* * *

_“That’s quite a tome, Prince Alexandre,” Jacqueline said in amusement one afternoon._

_He looked up from where he sat hovering over one of the works of_ Pseudodoxia Epidemica, _catching the blue eyes that stared down at him from one of the upper levels._

_“Oh. Yes, I suppose. It’s Sir Thomas Browne’s encyclopedia,” he explained._

_“And you read it cover to cover?” she asked in surprise._

_“Well, it’s modelled after the Renaissance scale-of-creation,” he shrugged. “I like to start at the bottom—with mineral, then vegetable, animal, human,” he listed. “All the way to planetary and the cosmos.”_

_By now, Jaqueline had moved down the staircase, a book in her own arms as she walked over. “And what are you on now?” she asked with interest._

_“Vegetable, I’m afraid.”_

_Her laughter was pleasant, and the prince found himself smiling at it. “It’s not so bad, really,” he went on. “I’ve always been a bit partial to botany, to be honest.”_

_She smiled back, sitting a seat away at the long table. “That is why you love your gardens so, is it not?”_

_He blinked. “Y—yes,” he admitted, wondering how she had known such a thing._

_Just then, one of the servants moved into the room, replacing several candles that had burnt down during their long hours of study._

_“Thank you, Damien,” the prince said. The man smiled, nodding to his master before departing._

_When Alexandre looked back at his companion, she was cocking her head at him.  “You’re…” Jacqueline stopped, pursing her lips and looking away._

_“I’m what?”_

_She seemed nervous. “You’re…different, is all. Than when I first met you,” she said quietly._

_“…I feel different,” he admitted. He sucked in a breath, knowing this was the moment to fulfill his promise to the one person he had so far neglected. To the one person, he sensed, who might actually matter the most. “I’m afraid I was quite rude then,” he said in shame. He swallowed roughly, but went on. “I’m sorry, Jacqueline. I hope…I hope you can forgive me.”_

_She looked utterly shocked at his confession, before regaining herself. “Of course, Your Highness,” she breathed._

_They were quiet for a moment, though it wasn’t unpleasant. Alexandre felt like an enormous burden had been torn from his shoulders, and he couldn’t help but smile at the lightness in his chest. He glanced out to the gardens, then back at her. “Would you care to join me?” he asked. “It isn’t healthy to sit for so long.”_

_She pursed her lips, looking out the tall windows before meeting his eyes. “…Yes,” she said, blushing a bit. “Yes, all right.”_

_As the summer days passed, their hours together only grew in number. Long walks were spent in the gardens as the prince named each plant one by one; others spent traversing the large palace as Jacqueline told him the history of each work of art. Any remaining time was spent in the library, their proximity growing with each day until they found it impossible to sit any closer. The baroness did little to interfere—when she wasn’t beaming at the sight of them, she was asleep in her chair._

_Merely a fortnight away from his own wedding, and Alexandre knew he had to distance himself. Yet each time he tried, he only came back with a greater desire to be near her._

_“This…isn’t good,” he told himself one night, alone in his dark chambers, stomach churning at the thought of watching his dear Jacqueline depart in just a few days’ time. At the thought of being with another while she still lived and breathed in this world._

_“I…I can’t do it,” he breathed. “I won’t do it.”_

_He soon found himself in the halls of the castle, ceiling melting into blackness above, a single candle in one hand as he moved towards the guest wing._

_“Your Highness?” she said, pulling open the door to his soft knock, tugging a thin shawl further around her shoulders and staring at him in bewilderment. He must have looked a sight standing in that dark hallway, shirt half-buttoned, hair a mess around his shoulders from running a frantic hand through it._

_“Jacqueline,” he gasped. “I…I’m sorry for waking you.”_

_“You didn’t,” she said, looking around him anxiously as she stepped into the hall and pulled the door shut behind her. She tugged at the shawl once more, her dark hair falling in pretty waves to her waist. He’d never seen it down, aching to run his fingers through it, aching to hold her close and never have to think about Frida von Preussen again._

_“What’s happened?” she asked nervously, looking back up at him._

_“Nothing…I…I just…” He stopped, feeling a tumble of emotions rush over him, knowing his face was telling all but unable to hide it from her any longer._

_“My…my prince,” she whispered with concern, reaching gentle fingers towards his face. As they touched his jaw, he caught them in his own. Her hand was soft, and he let the skin brush his cheek as he turned to kiss her palm._

_“Oh…Alexandre,” she shuddered, chest rising and falling heavily in the darkness._

_She had never spoken his name without a title, and the sound of it seemed to awaken something inside him. The candle fell heavily on the narrow table beside them, his freed hand cradling her face as he closed the distance between them with a sudden, desperate urgency. She gasped quietly, but relaxed in an instant as they melted together._

_Alexandre wasn’t sure how long it lasted. All he felt were her lips, warm and soft, and her chest rising shallowly against his. All he knew was that he could do this forever and never feel it could measure up to what he felt for her. A feeling he’d never imagined was possible._

_She pulled back too soon. “Y-you’re—you’re betrothed,” she whispered, her voice shaky and laced with guilt as she looked away._

_“I don’t care,” he breathed, pulling her beautiful hair from her temple and running his fingers down her cheek. “I’ll call it off.”_

_“But what about Princess Frida?” Jacqueline asked. She took a brave, deep breath. “It…it wouldn’t be fair to her.”_

_“She’s young, and comes from a powerful family. She won’t have a problem finding another,” he explained absently. “Besides, I barely know her.”_

_Jacqueline stepped away. “You seemed to know her quite well while she was here,” she said coldly._

_“…What?”_

_“I’ve been such a fool,” she breathed, looking terribly hurt as she stared at the floor. “I thought you had changed. I thought…this meant something.”_

_“It does mean something!” Alexandre cried in a desperate confusion. He tried to reach out to her, but she only turned further away. “Jacqueline…please. I don’t understand. What have I done?”_

_She finally looked back up, eyes searching his for a long minute before growing wide. “…You really don’t remember, do you?”_

_“Remember what?” he asked anxiously. “J-Jacqueline…you’re frightening me.”_

_“Alexandre…what we just did. You did the same with the princess each night she was here.”_

_“What?” he asked incredulously. “No I didn’t!”_

_“People saw you. I…I saw you, once,” she admitted with embarrassment. “In the gardens…”_

_“But I didn’t…I **didn’t** …” He stopped, a sudden fear washing over him. He tried desperately to recall the fortnight the princess was there, but he could barely conjure up an image of girl’s face, not to mention anything that had happened. “O-oh…oh God, I can’t remember any of it,” he admitted, feeling sick to his stomach. He looked back at Jacqueline with quaking eyes. “Y-you don’t think she made me—”_

_“People would have noticed if you were both missing for too long,” she assured him. “I’m quite certain she only kissed you. And considering you’re a terrible liar,” she deducted, raising a brow, “I’m now also certain she drugged you.”_

_Alexandre brought a shaky hand to his temple. “That’s why I was so tired,” he said to himself, trying to hold in the panic in his chest. “B-but why? We were already betrothed. What could she possibly gain from—” He stopped as his thoughts caught up with his words. “Good God, what if she means to control my actions as a ruler, too? What kind of poison could **do** that? How—how can I possibly fight something like—” _

_He stopped again as Jacqueline placed calm hands on his arms. “It will be all right,” she said firmly. “I believe you, and now that we know the truth, we can do something about it.”_

_“Yes…yes, you are right,” he admitted. The prince reached out for her again, and this time she accepted the embrace. He pulled her close, letting her warmth ease his fears, if just for a moment. “You’ve saved me, you know,” he whispered._

_“I’m certain someone would have noticed, if not me,” she said, looking up at him fondly._

_“I’m not so sure,” he said. “But I didn’t mean this. You…you saved me from the man I was.”_

_“You changed because you were willing to, Alexandre.”_

_God, he loved the way his name sounded from her lips. No…he loved **her.** Could he…could he say it? Now? “…Jacqueline,” he breathed. “I—”_

_“You dirty **traitor**_ **.”**

_Alexandre froze, heart flying into his throat. He felt Jacqueline grip his shirt hard, looking over his shoulder with wide, unblinking eyes._

_Turning around slowly, he saw a small form across the hall. The young woman wore a long, wide red gown, covered in fine jewels that glimmered in the small light of the candle beside them._

_“Princess Frida?” he said in utter shock. “What are you—how are you here?!”_

_“What? Isn’t your dear fiancé welcome in her future home?” the young woman said scathingly. “Or am I interrupting your filthy betrayal?”_

_Alexandre bristled. **“My** betrayal?” he snarled angrily, holding a protective arm across Jacqueline. She was still in shock, staring wide-eyed at a point across the room. Alexandre sucked in an angry breath, staring back at his betrothed. “You poisoned me!” he cried. “You’ve broken my trust, my kingdom’s trust. There’s no way I could marry you now.”_

_“A-Alexandre,” Jacqueline whispered from behind him. “She came…she came through the—”_

_“I didn’t poison you, love,” Frida said, moving towards them slowly. Her red eyes glowed as she came into the light, mouth curling into an unnerving grin. “I **bewitched** you. And I’ll do it again.”_

_Without warning, a dozen roses bloomed in her hair. In the same time, Alexandre recalled the single rose she’d tucked into his shirt each day of her visit, the lulling scent that always seemed to surround her. His eyes grew wide as he put two and two together._

_“No—” he gasped, pressing a hand to his mouth and nose before whatever strange power those flowers possessed could overwhelm him. A moment later, he felt a soft hand grab his other._

_“Hurry!” Jacqueline cried, tugging him towards the darkness. Alexandre quickly followed, but after two steps found himself blocked by some unseen force. Jacqueline pulled harder, but it was no use—something was stopping him from following._

_He released her hand, running it against the force in all directions, but found no break in the strange brick-like surface that separated them. Heart sinking in his chest, the prince looked back down at the woman he loved. He stared into her blue eyes, shaking his head to explain, mind starting to grow numb from lack of air._

_He looked behind them. The princess hadn’t moved, the only change her smirk which had broken into a full-toothed grin._

_“You can’t hold your breath forever, Prince Alexandre.”_

_He swallowed roughly. She was right, and it wasn’t long before he felt his eyes water and his legs tremble. He was partly aware of Jacqueline beside him again, holding him steady as he sank to his knees._ Run, Jacqueline! _he thought fiercely, but feared if he cried out he might breathe in that strange, powerful scent. And then who knew what Princess Frida might force him to do. Could he hurt Jacqueline under her…dare he call it a spell?_

_“What’s the matter? I thought you were so fond of your roses,” Frida mocked. She stopped, expression falling into a scowl, face full of rage. “Hundreds of them in your garden, and yet you couldn’t spare one for a child.”_

_Alexandre blinked in confusion._ What is she talking about? _he wondered, lungs burning as he held out further._

_Frida snarled, nose wrinkling in disgust. “Of course you don’t remember. You people can pen your name to a page and sentence a nation to its fate, yet couldn’t care less to take notice of it.”_

_“Alexandre,” Jacqueline whispered desperately, arms wrapped around him._

_“You couldn’t find a thread of mercy in your heart for a child, couldn’t see any beauty in one like me,” Frida went on. “But that will change. You **will** choose me, and everything I was forbidden before will be mine.”_

_Against his will, the prince finally succumbed, body forcing in the air he’d denied it the last few minutes. He waited for the flowers’ scent to flood over him, waited for the world to blur and fade—_

_But it didn’t. In fact, he smelled nothing, felt nothing, though the roses opened even more before his eyes._

_Princess Frida, for her part, seemed equally shocked. “Why isn’t it working?” she said under her breath, stepping away. “It worked back when—” She stopped, head snapping up, eyes boring into woman beside him. **“You,”** she snarled at Jacqueline._

_Regaining his strength, Alexandre stood and pulled Jacqueline behind him once again, gritting his teeth. “Leave her out of this—she’s done nothing!”_

_“You’re stopping my spell!” the princess cried, ignoring his plea and pointing one thin, red-tipped finger at Jacqueline’s heart. Frida’s chest rose and fell in anger, a strange light starting to pool at her fingertips._

_“Run, Jacqueline,” Alexandre breathed. “I don’t know what she’s capable of.”_

_“But Alexandre, you’ll be trapped here without anyone to—”_

_“This is my burden. Somehow I’ve offended a…a witch.” How strange the word sounded to say. He hadn’t believed in such a thing ten minutes ago, but…well, he couldn’t explain what was happening in any other way._

_Jacqueline sucked in a frustrated breath, but nodded quickly before running off. It was what he’d wanted, after all…but he had never felt so suddenly alone._

_The princess frowned towards Jacqueline’s form as it vanished, but soon shrugged. “Didn’t take much to persuade her, did it? Perhaps she doesn’t love you after all,” she grinned cruelly._

_Alexandre grit his teeth, but forced himself to look up at the intruder once again. “I can’t remember how I hurt you,” he started quietly. “But I can certainly believe I was capable of such. And…I’m sorry.”_

_“Apologies aren’t good enough,” Frida said darkly. “Isn’t that what you told me?”_

_Alexandre blinked, still no memory of such an interaction. “How long ago did this happen?” he asked._

_“Eighteen years this day.”_

Eighteen years! _“I was just a boy!” he cried in disbelief. “Surely you can forgive me that.”_

_“I was just a young girl myself, dear prince. Yet **I** received no mercy.” She stopped, nose wrinkling at the corners. “No, you’ll suffer for your actions as a child, just as I did. But don’t worry, dearest,” she went on, smiling again. “Many would kill for such a punishment.”_

_Before he could blink, the princess began to grow, to change. No longer the petite, delicate girl from before, she now towered over him, body filling out, lips growing full, hair falling from its careful arrangement into heavy locks around her shoulders. She was beautiful—terrifying, but beautiful._

_“Wh-who are you?” the prince asked in fear. “Where is Princess Frida?” He stopped, narrowing his eyes. “Or was there ever a Frida to begin with?”_

_“Oh, there was. Though you’ve never met her—a fearful little thing, really. Though…I do tend to have that effect on people.” She stopped, twirling one of her curls in a lazy finger. “I’ve hidden her quite well. Couldn’t have two of us wandering around, you know.”_

_Alexandre’s heart sank in his stomach. So he’d brought another innocent into this mess, too._

_“I’m not so bad, am I?” she went on, moving closer to him and licking her lips. Alexandre backed away as far as he could, pressed against the strange force behind him. “Forget that woman,” the witch went on. “She’s nothing compared to me.”_

_“Forget Jacqueline?” Alexandre asked in disbelief. “You can’t just…you can't just stop loving someone!”_

_The witch narrowed her eyes. “Yes you can,” she said darkly._

_He stared at her for a long moment, heart pounding in his ears. “I don’t understand,” he went on, trying to buy himself time to think of a way out of this. “If you hate me so much…why do you desire me?”_

_“Well…you **are** quite handsome, Your Highness.”_

_“No,” Alexandre frowned. “No, you want to control me. You want what I have.”_

_“A few careless words from your lips took everything **I** had,” she said. “Such power, such control over the lives of those beneath you. Oh, how it would feel to have it for myself. To have such power over **you,** dear prince.” She paused. “Though I wasn’t lying—your looks would be a…perk, to the arrangement.”_

_“I’ll never accept you,” Alexandre said in disgust. “And your spell is useless. Be gone, witch!”_

_She only laughed, her terrible cackle ringing through the halls. “Perhaps love stops **this** spell,” she said, plucking a loose rose from her hair and tossing it aside. “But my power doesn’t end there, dear prince.”_

_The light from the witch’s hands glowed once again, bright chains shooting from her fingertips. Alexandre dodged them quickly, suddenly grateful Sire Gilles had insisted his training include more than simple swordsmanship. The witch seemed surprised by his agility, and in her moment of hesitation, he caught the sounds of heavy footfalls pounding down the corridor._

_The sound of metal on stone made him turn, and a sword slid to his side, glinting in the faint candlelight. He looked up, a woman with bright blue eyes racing towards him, a troop of men at her heels._

Jacqueline.

_Of course she hadn’t abandoned him. He felt his chest swell with warmth, grabbing the sword she’d thrown him and rising quickly to his feet just in time to dodge a second attack._

_The witch hissed, eyes growing wide at the soldiers as they grew near. She raised a hand towards them, but the prince was upon her in an instant, swiping his sword inches from her throat._

_She backed away quickly, but Alexandre didn’t stop. He wasn’t going to give her a chance to hurt them. To hurt Jacqueline._

_He fought with passion—swinging the blade with each attempt she made to cast a spell. Though he’d trained for years in swordsmanship, he’d never actually had the opportunity to use it. He sensed the present circumstance was not a common application._

_Soon, his men circled around them, providing relief to their prince. The witch’s eyes grew wide in fury, and before Alexandre could react, she had let those deadly blossoms in her hair open wide once again._

_“Back!” he cried, several men already growing glassy-eyed by the scent. “Don’t get too close! Don’t breathe it in!”_

_Beside him, Sire Gilles shouted to his men to obey. They backed away at once, dragging those already intoxicated behind them and watching nervously as their prince continued the fight alone._

_“Open the windows!” Gilles cried. The sentries obeyed, and soon the midnight winds were flooding the hall. Though Alexandre couldn’t smell the roses, it was obvious that had done the trick as the spellbound men returned to awareness in an instant._

_The witch hissed, and Alexandre could tell he was wearing her down. Her size made her slow, and he noticed her ragged breathing increase the longer they fought. With several men attacking at once, she could barely send a glowing chain towards one man before being forced to face another. She seemed to be growing more confused by the minute, and the prince wondered if she had even less experience in true combat than himself._

_They soon had her backed against the wall. It held a grand mirror, reflecting the large hall and the men now nearly upon her._

_“You have nowhere to go, witch,” Alexandre said, breathing heavily and holding his weapon towards her chest. His men surrounded them on all sides, their own spears forming a circle from which no one could escape. “Surrender now if you wish to keep your life.”_

_She glanced at the mirror behind her, then turned back to them and grinned. Her lips were lopsided and her eyes full of mirth. “Not so fast, Your Highness,” she replied. She turned, placing a palm flat against the glass. It began to tremble, their reflections slowly fading into blackness until—_

Crash!

_The mirror shattered into a hundred pieces, all scattering across the floor along with a single candlestick that someone had hurled at its surface. The very one he’d carried there that night._

_Alexandre looked behind him, catching sight of Jacqueline with her arm outstretched. She pulled it back, exhaling heavily and catching his eyes. “She came…through the mirror,” she explained breathlessly._

_“No,” the witch gasped, staring at Jacqueline in rage. “S-seven—seven years bad luck to you!” she screamed, throwing out an accusatory finger as a dozen men detained her in an instant._

_Jaqueline stood tall once again, regaining her breath. "Mmm, worth it," she shrugged._

_Despite all that had happened, Alexandre couldn’t help but crack a grin._

_“Aaargh!” the witch shrieked, now forced to her knees, hands held stiffly behind her back as she continued to scream in fury._

_“What shall we do with her, my lord?” someone asked. Alexandre looked up; Sire Gilles stood before him, a grim look on his face._

_“Gotta burn these witch folk,” another man said fiercely. “Otherwise you’ll never be rid of ‘em.”_

_The prince frowned. A few weeks ago, he may have agreed to such a proposal in an instant. But he wasn’t the same man he was then._

_“Secure her in the tower,” he directed solemnly. “I need to speak with her before anything is decided.”_

* * *

_“Where is she?”_

_The witch sat in the cold cell, limbs bound by tight chains secured to the wall. It was a strange sight—such a beautiful woman, clothed in a rich gown, sitting on the damp prison floor._

_In response to his question, she only shrugged._

_“You will answer His Highness,” Gilles said angrily beside him, eyes boring into her.  
_

_“Princess Frida’s family is worried sick,” Alexandre went on, trying to remain calm. “We know your true form now. There’s no point in keeping her hidden.”_

_“I might have killed her,” the witch said absently._

_“No, you didn’t,” Alexandre said, grinding his teeth. “You said she was hidden. Now, tell me where!”_

_She simply stared at her reflection in the small pool of water in the cell’s floor. It had rained all night, the air now muggy and damp. It only added to Alexandre’s irritation._

_“Look,” he went on. “Perhaps we can make a deal. Some lenience in your sentence, for information on the princess’s location.”_

_The witch stared at the water for a moment longer, then smiled, looking up at him. “You’ll find her on an isle twenty lieues southeast of Montpellier.”_

_“So far?” Gilles said._

_“Oh, and you’ll need to wait until the next new moon. She won’t be there before then.”_

_“That’s nearly a month away,” Alexandre realized. “Where is she **now?** Who has her?”_

_The witch looked back down at the puddle beside her fingertips. “Nowhere. No one.”_

_He frowned. Perhaps if she hired someone to transport the princess to the location, she wouldn’t know. “Well, if this proves true, I’ll be sure it’s considered during your trial,” he said._

_Strangely, the witch only chuckled. “Thank you for the offer, dear prince,” she said. Her hand now floated over the surface of water, and it began to change. To grow dark. “But I can take care of myself.”_

_In an instant, she was gone, the puddle’s surface quivering for a moment before settling back to the light grey reflection of the cell walls. The chains that had bound her fell to a heap on the floor._

_The two men were stunned silent for a long minute. “Damn,” Gilles swore at last._

_Alexandre only stared at the floor, gripping the cell’s bars. “Damn is right,” he said. “Who knew she could use the water’s reflection as well?” He furrowed his brows as he thought. “I should have…perhaps I should have…”_

_“If you’d had her executed, we would never be able to find the Prussian princess,” Gilles observed._

_Alexandre pursed his lips. “As long as she didn’t feed us false information.”_

_They were quiet for several minutes, the prince pacing the narrow corridor while the head of his troops stood calm. “My lord, if I may,” Gilles started. Alexandre looked over at him. The man cleared his throat, adjusting one of the gold rings in his ear. “You may wish to announce her banishment, in order to explain her disappearance,” he said, looking back at the empty cell._

_Alexandre followed his gaze nervously. “I don’t want to lie,” he said quietly._

_“I only suggest it as a safety measure. It wouldn’t do to start a panic. And I would not wish our enemies to think us weak. It would be much better to report her absence as the result of firm decision on your part.”_

_Alexandre nodded. He could see the logic in that, and Gilles had dealt with such things much longer than he. “Do you think she’ll return?” he wondered aloud._

_“Perhaps,” the man conceded. “But if it’s a fight she wants…we’ll be ready for her.”_

* * *

_“Prinzessin Frida?”_

_The girl huddled against the brush beside a shimmering pool, trembling head to toe. She wore the fine robes of her countrymen, barely a stain on their surface. Her was hair done up as though a servant had placed the light curls themselves that very morning. Alexandre frowned, but none of that mattered—after a month-long journey, they’d finally found her. And somehow, she was still alive. Though her form was the same as that the witch had impersonated, she seemed so much younger as herself._ Was I really supposed to marry this child? _he thought, feeling a pang in his gut._

_“Prinzessin…it’s me, Prince Alexandre of France.”_

_She finally looked up at him, though there was no recognition in her eyes. “Ich will nach Hause gehen,” she said in her tongue, eyes filling with tears. “Bitte, bring mich nach Hause.”_

_Alexandre looked behind him, where Gilles stood in the thick vegetation. “She wishes to go home, Your Highness,” he interpreted._

_Alexandre looked back down at her, and nodded. She let him help her to her feet and he guided her back to the ship, still wondering what on earth he had done to that witch to cause such trouble._

* * *

_“Father, with everything that’s happened, well—Princess Frida wishes to return to her family for the unforeseeable future. So, I was thinking, perhaps it would be best if we simply…well, if we went ahead and broke off the engagement and—”_

_“Alexandre,” his father said gruffly. “If you want to marry that woman you’ve been seeing, just come out and say it.”_

_The prince blinked. “You know about that?” he asked in shock._

_“Of course I know about it. I’m not a fool,” the king huffed. “I’ve already met the girl, in fact.”_

_“You—you have?”_

_“Yes, yes,” the king said irritably, waving a hand in the air. “I brought her here to see me just this morning.”_

_Alexandre’s heart flew into his throat, and he nearly fled the room that instant. He hadn’t seen Jacqueline since the night before. Was she all right? Had his father threatened her?!_ Oh God, _he thought._ What was I thinking? I should have sent her somewhere safe before Father came back and—

_“Her status is certainly not ideal,” the king went on, unaware of his son’s anxiety. “But I do admit the woman has a certain…charm about her,” he admitted._

_Alexandre’s mouth fell open in surprise. Had Jacqueline actually managed to break into his father’s cold heart? He felt himself smiling, knowing that if anyone could, it was her._

_The king suddenly fell into a fit of dry coughs for a long minute, before sitting back tiredly against the pillows of the grand bed. “Good lord, I can barely make a summer trip anymore without feeling like I’ve aged a decade,” he muttered._

_The prince was quiet for a long moment. “So…I have your blessing?” he asked carefully. And by blessing, he really meant permission. Though he knew no matter his father’s answer, he would find a way to be with her—even if it meant leaving this place behind forever._

_“Alexandre, I’m far too old to go through all the fuss of arranging your betrothal twice,” his father said. “Just get yourself an heir before I go the way of this world, and I’ll be satisfied—I know I’ll never rest easy in my grave knowing Victor is second in line. You might have a brain full of useless ideas, but at least you have one. That boy’s an utter fool—he’ll lay waste to this kingdom in a fortnight, no doubt.”_

_“Y-yes, Father,” Alexandre said breathlessly. “Th-thank you. Thank you!” he cried, standing and racing from the room._

_When Jacqueline produced an heir a year later, the old king grunted his approval, passing the kingship to his son in order to live out his final years in peace. Alexandre, for his part, had never been happier in his life. He had a wife he loved, a son with her eyes and, soon to be revealed, her gentle temperament. In fact, so happy was Alexandre that it wasn’t long until he forgot all about spells and red eyes._

_Though, of course, some day they would return to haunt him._

* * *

A man gasped at the sound of footsteps, waking with a start. He closed his eyes again, trying desperately to cling to the last bits of the memories that had filled his dreams. Of playful blue eyes, the laughter of a boy atop his shoulders, the touch of a woman long since taken from him.

While only in his forties, the man didn’t know it. He could have been twice his true age as far as he was aware. _How long have I been here?_ he wondered for the umpteenth time, scratching at the flaking skin beneath his long, knotted beard. He blinked against the darkness, eyes long since adjusted to the shadows of his cell. Thick fog crept through the window—it never seemed to stop. A sliver of light fell across the prison occupants some days, though it never lasted more than a few hours before shrouding them in darkness again.

The cell’s window itself was unbarred, and no fatal drop resided on its other side. In fact, bits of the walls around him had crumbled away, opening into the dark forests that surrounded them. It wouldn’t have been difficult to crack the holes open wide enough for a man to fit through. Yet he could never do it. For like the rest of his prison, no bars or locks blocked his escape—but a strange force hard as bricks that no human eye could see. It encased him in on all sides, like a giant, invisible box. And while it allowed anyone else to pass in and out freely, its occupant was very much trapped.

Two forms moved into view, stepping out of one of the dozen dim mirrors lining the hall. One was a younger man, and he put up no argument as he was tossed like a ragdoll in the cell across the way. _A newcomer,_ the older prisoner realized absently. It wasn’t the first; in fact, recently it seemed the witch was set to break her own record for the number of victims she brought within these walls. As though harvesting from those already here wasn’t enough for whatever scheme she had plotted next.

“You’re not eating enough, Your Majesty.”

Alexandre looked up, the very woman herself now cocking her head at him from beyond the threshold of his invisible cage. She stared with disapproval at the bowl at his feet, the contents yet untouched.

“Why should I eat, when you’ll just steal any strength I gain?” he rasped. The words were rough, painful against his dry throat. It had been a while since he’d spoken to anyone. Of course, he spoke to the others here, at least when they first came. Or tried to, anyway. But sitting in a dark room for years on end meant one eventually ran out of things to say.

She was before him now, crouched down to his level, lips red as blood and eyes to match. He hated those eyes, almost as much as the lips that now pressed against his. He had long since given up the fight against the enchanted chains that held him in place while she pulled his lifeblood away.

 _Perhaps this is my punishment,_ he thought numbly, feeling the small store of strength he'd managed to preserve quickly vanish from his limbs. _Perhaps I never deserved Jacqueline. Never deserved my son._ It made sense, after all—he’d lived a life of selfishness, of pride, of neglect for those below him until Jacqueline came along. Did he really expect a few apologies and a personality adjustment would made him worthy of true happiness?

The witch stood once again, licking her lips and sighing deeply. “Really, it would be so much more helpful if you would eat. You’re practically skin and bones—I doubt your son would even recognize you.”

Alexandre snarled. “What does it matter? I’ll never see him again.”

The witch watched him for a long moment, then grinned. “Why, Alexandre,” she said. “Why didn’t you just ask?”

Stepping back into the hall, she touched one of grand mirrors lining its walls. The surface seemed to break into life, and the once-king raised a hand to his face as it glowed against the darkness.

Blinking against the onslaught of light, his vision came into focus. He gasped.

“What is that?” he asked in confusion, watching as a giant creature padded across the frame. It walked on its hind legs, clad in the clothes of a man. He looked back up at the witch. “Why are you showing me this monster?”

She laughed cruelly. “Dear king, surely you wouldn’t say such a thing about your own son?”

Alexandre’s heart caught in his throat. “No,” he breathed. “No, you swore—you swore you wouldn’t hurt him!”

“Did I?” she mocked. “If I recall, I only promised not to _kill_ him. And my little Beast is perfectly well, I can assure you.”

Alexandre clenched his fists, his long, unkempt nails piecing his own flesh in his fury. “Damn you,” he growled, sucking in heated breath. “Damn you!”

“In fact, your dear son is my prisoner too,” the witch went on, ignoring him. “But don’t worry—I’ve given him a much larger cage than you.”

The king’s anger quickly melted into grief as he watched the strange creature—could it really be his son?—from beyond the mirror’s surface. Soon, another figure entered the vision. A woman. She was lovely, and young, and when she approached Adam’s monstrous form, she reached for him with a gentle hand.

Alexandre couldn’t quite smile, but he did let a bit of hope seep into his chest. _Even with such a curse, he’s capable of love,_ he realized. _His goodness is still seen by others, even one so beautiful._

“Yes, yes, he’s a bit distracted right now,” the witch admitted, frowning at the image. “But I’ll soon fix that.”

Alexandre’s eyes grew wide, and he tore them from the mirror to look back at his captor. “Why?” he cried. “What more will you take from us? Wasn’t killing my wife enough?”

Her mouth formed a small “o” in surprise. “So you finally put that together, mm, Alexandre?” she realized. “You’re not quite right, though. Close, but not quite right.”

He frowned deeply. He was certain the witch had been tormenting Jacqueline all those years ago. He’d watched the enchantress come in and out of the prison mirrors for years, seen her appear in a dozen different forms before his very eyes. It hadn’t taken long to realize who Jacqueline had really been seeing, who had truly led her into the storm that dreadful night.

“You don’t believe me?” the witch went on. “I’m telling the truth, you know. Yes, I might have haunted the woman, per say…but I didn’t _kill_ her.”

“No. You let the wolves do that,” Alexandre said in quiet rage.

“Not quite,” she said with a strange pride. “So sure of her fate—yet did you ever find a body?”

He froze. They’d found the long strip of cloth, coated in fresh blood which painted the snow surrounding it. Yet the hunting dogs had found no trail to her remains. A battalion of men had searched the woods twice over for miles and miles, much farther than even a man could have gone in the same amount of time. If it weren’t for the blood-soaked cloth found far from any cliffs, Alexandre would have thought she’d fallen into an unreachable chasm. So instead, he’d finally accepted that the wolves had reached her, and left nothing behind for them to find. Or if they had, it was lost beneath the falling snow and long gone by spring.

But now he knew more. More about this self-proclaimed enchantress, about the men she dragged through these mirrors from across the countryside. _Is it possible?_ he wondered. _Is Jacqueline still alive?_

“Where is she?” he breathed, the quaking of his heart spilling into his limbs, his fingers. He stood, ignoring his aching legs and throwing two fists against the clear wall. “Tell me where she is!”

The woman smirked again. “She’s somewhere you can never reach. At least, not yet.”

“Not yet?” he asked in desperation. He shook his head, snarling in fury. “God damn it woman, answer the question! _Where is my wife?!”_

“Always asking the wrong questions,” the witch tut-tutted. She leaned close, red eyes glowing in victory. “Not _where_ is she, dear Alexandre. _When.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies to any history buffs – I know there are plenty of historical inaccuracies here, especially regarding the kingdom setup. However, a lot of this was intentional – I wanted to preserve that fairy tale feeling of “a kingdom far far away,” so you can think of this as a distant (imaginary) kingdom in northern France that has a good amount of autonomy from the country’s true political center at the time.


	15. Chapter 14

“…Why didn’t you tell me?” Adam asked, feeling a sense of betrayal he’d never experienced in this company. He sat with his elbows on his knees, fingers interlocked and squeezing tightly as he tried to place the tale he’d heard in context with everything he thought he’d known. He looked up slowly. “How…how come _they_ never told me?” he wondered aloud, thinking of his parents and the secrets they’d taken with them.

“I believe the story brought the king some shame,” Sire Gilles said. He had been recruited to relate the tale, given he had been closest to his father at the time.

“I’m quite certain he would have told you when you were a little older,” Mrs. Potts added. “But… _”_

 _He wasn’t here long enough to do so,_ Adam realized. He felt on the verge of tears, which was stupid, but it really had been a lot of revelations for one day. He still hadn’t fully processed the witch’s involvement in Maman’s death, only to find out his father hadn’t always been the man he thought he was? And had been betrothed to another woman? And that the witch had been impersonating her? And that apparently everyone else knew she could travel through mirrors and change her shape but never felt the need to tell him? Oh, and on top of all that, she had been trying to separate him and Belle?!

He let his face fall into his hands, and sighed in tired frustration.

A hand tucked itself into his elbow, another set of fingers running in circles across his back. He closed his eyes, enjoying the comfort of Belle’s touch while also wondering how in the world she could she stand to put up with him and his ridiculous life.

“We didn’t know if it was our place to share your father’s secrets,” Mrs. Potts went on. “And we—well, in truth, I suppose we didn’t want to tarnish your memory of him, love.”

“Because he caused this mess,” Adam said roughly.

“Master—”

“I just need a minute,” he said, rising to his feet. Belle looked up at him, worried, but remained quiet as he padded out of the room.

He wandered the halls absently, a strange darkness filling his heart. He knew he was tired—exhausted, truly—and that things might not seem so bad in the morning. But at the same time, he wondered if he could even sleep right now if he wanted to.

Adam soon found himself walking quietly down the long aisle of the castle’s chapel, two quiet candles flickering near the lectern. The stained glass windows near the ceilings were dim, a bit of moonlight seeping through and painting the floors in pale colored light. He sat heavily on the first row, staring absently at the covered alter in the shadows.

Strange that he’d found himself here, a place that reminded him of his parents so much. It did so especially now, when all was quiet and still. In the early years of the curse, he’d often come here in secret, kneeling in the darkness, praying desperately he could somehow see them again. Men claimed to have seen angels, hadn’t they? Was it so much for a child to wish to see his parents again, just for a moment?

Apparently, it was. Or more likely, impossible. Adam huffed, laying back on the bench and staring at the patterned windows above. He wasn’t sure _what_ he believed in anymore.

“Master?”

He started, looking up and into the darkness. The flutter of pages on the next bench over caught his eye. “Oh, Father Marius…I’m sorry,” he said as he sat quickly, realizing lounging on the pew probably wasn’t the most reverent thing to be doing.

The old Bible was quiet for a moment. “My son…what troubles you?” he asked carefully.

Adam pursed his lips. The cardinal might give dry sermons, but he’d actually offered him some good council in the past. “I found out about my father,” he said quietly. “About…what he was.”

Marius hummed. “You know,” he began. “Some of the best men had…less than ideal beginnings. The prophet Paul, of course, is probably our greatest example of this.”

“Mmm,” Adam hummed.

“It takes great courage to abandon those views you were taught and accept that there could be a better way,” Marius went on. “Especially when that means admitting what you’ve done is wrong. Your father showed this strength more than any man I’ve seen.”

Adam nodded. “I know his past doesn’t matter. I know people change. But at the same time…I can’t help but blame him for everything that’s happened to us,” he said. He clenched a fist, grinding his teeth. “I can’t help but feel...feel…”

“…Angry?”

Adam pursed his lips. “I’m sorry, Father. I know it’s wrong to be angry.”

“Well, I admit I would not encourage it,” Marius said. “But I’d certainly rather a man feel it briefly than bury it deep in his heart.”

Adam breathed quietly, soaking in those words. “I _am_ angry,” he admitted at last, feeling his eyes burn once again. “I’m angry at him for getting us all into this mess. I’m angry at him for letting the enchantress kill Maman. I’m angry at him for just…just…” He stopped, sucking in a shaky breath. “Just giving up, and _leaving_ me behind!”

Adam felt something dripping down his cheeks. He didn’t even realize he’d been crying. He let his face fall into his hands.

“I know it wasn’t his fault. And I know he didn’t _want_ to leave. But he still did,” Adam choked out. “…And it still hurts.”

“Of course it does, my son,” Marius said quietly. “Of course it does.”

* * *

Belle was worried. Adam had been gone much longer than the few minutes he claimed to need, and she was feeling more and more guilty we each moment that passed. _What is wrong with me?_ she thought, chewing a nail nervously. _Hadn’t I learned this lesson?_ To ask about his parent’s past, after everything Adam already had thrown at him that evening? She couldn’t think of anything more inconsiderate. She wished she could take it all back.

“Come, love, let’s get you to bed,” Mrs. Potts said. The others had already left. “The Master will find his way to his own, and we can all talk in the morning. Things will seem better then, you’ll see.”

Belle frowned, but nodded, standing quietly and following Mrs. Potts into the hall.

Not much later, she sat in her chemise on the end of her bed, pulling a brush through her hair as she chewed anxiously on her lip. The wardrobe snored quietly across the room, a lone candle illuminating the space. Two chimes came from the small mantle clock.

A moment later, two soft knocks mirrored the sound.

Belle looked up quickly, grabbing her robe and tugging it on before pulling open the door. Adam stood in the darkness, holding a single candle. His eyes looked paler than normal, bits of red lining the edges. Belle hoped it was only from exhaustion.

“Sorry,” he whispered. “I shouldn’t have left.”

“I’m the one who should be apologizing,” she said, looking at her feet. “I shouldn’t have brought up…what I brought up, tonight.”

Adam looked puzzled. “What? No, that’s not your fault,” he said. “I needed to know. And if I was to be upset with anyone, it would be Mrs. Potts for not telling me sooner. But, well…” He finally smiled a little. “It’s kind of hard to be mad at her for too long.”

Belle smiled back. It was true.

His fingers were in her hair then, giant thumb brushing carefully across her cheek. There was that look in his eyes—she’d seen it nearly every time they said goodnight these past few days, and sometimes during the day when they sat curled together beside the library hearth. It was a look like he wanted to say something, or perhaps _do_ something…but couldn’t.

Well, Belle could certainly think of one thing she would have very much liked to do, had he his human form. She brought her fingers to her lips, looking shyly away. She shouldn’t think such things. Impossible things.

He hummed deeply, before letting his paw fall to her shoulder. “Actually, I came with a purpose tonight.”

“Saying goodnight isn’t a purpose?”

He grinned a bit sheepishly. “I meant… _two_ purposes,” he amended. “Can I, um…” He nodded towards the room.

Belle pushed the door open, letting him in. Max lifted a head up as they entered, his happy breathing echoing off the walls. Adam set the candle on the dresser, stepping quietly towards the hearth so as not to wake Madame de la Grande Bouche. He looked up, examining the tall mirror above the mantle before grabbing each side in his hands and attempting to yank it free.

Instead, the mirror remained caught on its hook, knocking the mantle clock from its perch. Belle caught it just in time. Adam cursed under his breath, and she had to stifle a chuckle as she placed the clock back in place. Adam stepped back, scratching his head.

“This might need to wait until tomorrow,” Belle whispered.

“But what if _she_ shows up before then?”

The wardrobe gave a snort, mumbling something in her sleep before settling back in place. They moved back quickly into the hall.

Belle looked back up at Adam. He really did looked exhausted, ears sagging against his head, tail limp on the floor. “The enchantress hasn’t tried anything so far,” she said, attempting to ease his worries.

Adam raised a brow.

She suddenly recalled the night she’d nearly touched the rose, and grimaced. “Well, anything to _harm_ me, that is.”

“That almost makes me more worried,” he said nervously, starting to pace the hall, the candle’s flame flickering wildly in his hand with the movement. “Things are too quiet. She _must_ be up to something.”

“But do you plan to get rid of all the mirrors in the palace?” Belle asked carefully, trying not to sound too skeptical. “I mean…there must be hundreds.”

“Doable.”

Belle frowned. “But remember the water’s reflection, like Sire Gilles mentioned? Are we to empty every barrel of water? Every cup of tea?” She stopped, pondering for a moment. “And what about the reflections from the silver dishes?”

Adam stopped in his tracks, running a paw through his mane. “Surely…surely she can only come through large surfaces,” he said slowly, turning back to her. “…Right?”

Belle shrugged. Even with the day’s new information, there was still so much they didn’t know.

Adam started pacing again. He was looking more exhausted by the minute, and she could feel her own fatigue begin to flood over her. She knew neither of them would be much use coming up with a plan so late. Had it really only been a few hours ago she’d been in Beaumont with Sophie?

“Adam, please…” she said softly. “Let’s get some sleep.”

“Yes, yes, you should,” he agreed, stopping and gripping the banister as he stared down at the dark floors below.

Belle frowned, wondering if he was going to stay up guarding her door all night. No, she didn’t need to wonder—that was _exactly_ what he would do.

Belle sighed, though her eyes softened. “Come on, you can bunk here tonight.”

Adam spun around, eyes growing wide. “Oh—no, no. I shouldn’t…”

“Are you going to get any sleep if you don’t?”

He pursed his lips. “…Probably not,” he admitted.

Smiling, Belle reached for his hand and pulled him back inside, shutting the door behind them with gentle fingers. They stepped quietly, careful not to disturb the sleeping wardrobe as they silently gathered the stack of blankets beside the fire and made a makeshift bed for Adam on the floor. Neither had to speak to know he would be sleeping beside her bed instead of the hearth. Belle looked at the single bed, suddenly wishing it were large enough for two. She flushed immediately, shaking her head at herself.

Adam soon tugged off his jacket, setting it aside, moving to unbutton his stiff shirt. He paused, however, glancing over at her with nervous eyes.

She slipped quietly into bed, turning away to give him a moment of privacy. She’d seen him shirtless once, that night she sleepwalked—no, been _led_ —into his room. She swallowed, turning her thoughts back to the present as something fell softly to the floor behind her and the remaining candle was blown out. Even now, there were still times Adam seemed embarrassed by himself around her. She wished it wasn’t so.

A warm, gentle hand rested on her shoulder, and Belle rolled back to face him where he sat beside the bed. She caught his eyes in the darkness and—there it was. That look again.

“Belle…” he started, feeling for her hand beneath the covers.

“Yes?”

Adam sucked in a breath. Then another. “…Goodnight,” he said at last, sounding faintly defeated. Or perhaps just tired.

“Goodnight,” Belle whispered back. “Sweet dreams.”

He chuckled softly. “You too.” Even after he said it, he didn’t pull away, but rested his head on his arms, fighting drooping eyes as if nervous she might disappear if he shut them. He’d clearly been trying to hide it, but the slight trembling of his hand in hers betrayed his fears.

The fingers of her free hand reached out on their own, running through the long fur on his head, knuckles coming down to brush his cheek. Adam finally let his eyes close, and sighed deeply. Soon his quaking was all but gone.

“Everything's going to be fine,” Belle said softly, as much to herself as to him. “You'll see.”

* * *

All was still in the town nestled between the peaks. Though it was a loud and bustling village during the day, the townsfolk of Beaumont had retired early that evening to prepare for tomorrow’s holiday market—their most profitable day of the year.  

However, while all slept, a lone light flared in a small shop near the edge of town. Those sleeping nearby muttered curses while stifling the sound with their pillows, but the loud clanging of iron on searing metal continued deep into the night.

The pounding would stop every few moments, the young blacksmith thrusting a finished blade into a water barrel before pulling a new one from the fire.

Henri wiped the sweat from his brow on the back of one arm, staring at the new sword in his other hand. It glowed orange in dark workshop, highlighting the raw shapes of the tools around him. He bore a few old burns along his arms from his apprenticeship, but it had been years since he’d made such mistakes, for the craft had long since become second nature to him. He sometimes wished it required more focus, however, for it was nights like these he felt the most alone. It was nights like these his memories always crawled back to torment him.

_“All right, lad. You’re free to go.”_

_The heavy pressure finally lifted from the back of his neck, and Henri stood slowly, body used to the hunched position he’d been forced into for the past day. He cracked his neck, rubbing roughly at his freed wrists._

_“Fifth time in the stocks this month,” the officer observed, raising a brow at the young man before him._

_Henri only frowned. “What do ya expect, Charles?”_

_“Look, son…I get it,” the man went on, resting a hand on his shoulder. “You aren’t the only who’s tried gettin’ in those woods. But it won’t do ya any good going against the king’s orders.”_

_“He’s no king of mine,” Henri said darkly._

_“Good lord, Henri!” Charles said, eyes scanning the crowds around them as he dragged him into an alleyway. He glanced behind them, tensing as couple of the king’s soldiers walked by, but the men continued past without a second glance. The old town officer sighed in relief, looking back at Henri sternly. “Ya can’t **say** things like that.”_

_“Why not?” Henri asked defiantly, crossing his arms in the quiet side street. “Everyone knows Victor murdered his brother for the crown. ‘Demon,’ my foot,” he huffed in disbelief. “He’s just keeping us outta those woods to cover it up. And ya know what **I** think—”_

_“Not this again,” Charles sighed._

_“He’s keepin’ em trapped there, ‘cause they know the truth,” Henri said fiercely. “Don’t want witnesses, ya see?” He stopped, glancing towards the distance woods. “But he can’t keep me away forever.”_

_Charles’ expression fell. “Son…it’s been three months. Whether those woods really are possessed by demons as they say, or…” He paused, looking around for a moment before glancing back and lowering his voice. “Or if you **are** right…ya gotta accept that the king wouldn’t keep anyone alive if they did have that kinda information.”_

_“Bah,” Henri said, waving a hand at the man and starting back towards the street. “They wouldn’t kill an infant or his caretaker.”_

_“Are you sure?”_

_Henri froze in his tracks, gritting his teeth. Three months. The first two wasted on business for his master in the south, only to return and find the king declared dead and the woods to the palace guarded fiercely by Victor’s soldiers._

_“Henri…they told us everyone in the palace was dead. Whatever really happened, I see no reason for them to lie about **that**.” Charles sighed again, grimacing as he looked away. “…Your boy’s gone, son.”_

_Henri kept his back to the man, fighting the growing moisture in his eyes. “No,” he said. “He isn’t. I can feel it.”_

_Charles only frowned deeper. “Henri, I’ve known ya yer whole life. You were a good kid, and you’ve grown into a good man. But I’m afraid I can’t protect you any longer. Victor’s soldiers say you venture into that forest once more and they’ll detain you themselves. The town authorities won’t have a say then. You know what that means…don’t ya?”_

_Henri nodded. A work camp, most likely. Or the gallows, if they really wanted to be rid of him._

_“Son, you’re still young. Got a good skill, and your whole life ahead of ya. Could find another woman, settle down…start a new family, perhaps.” Charles paused, waiting for Henri to say something._

_He didn’t._

_“Just…just forget about those woods, all right?”_

_Henri still didn’t reply, looking past him again towards the town’s edge. The dark forest loomed there, and he narrowed his eyes._

_Charles sucked in a breath, shaking his head and grumbling under his breath as he plodded back to his duties._

_Henri watched him go, then continued towards the edge of town._ There’s gotta be a way in, _he thought, pursing his lips as he strode towards the smithy. They couldn’t be guarding every path to the castle. There just had to be something he hadn’t tried yet._

Blast, _he thought._ I’m a blacksmith, not a strategist. _The best he’d been able to come up with was trying to form a group that could force their way to the palace, but everyone he’d asked was too scared of Victor’s army._

_The cowards._

_“Oi, Smiles. You reek.”_

_Henri stopped, frowning deeper as if to spite the old nickname. He didn’t have to turn around to know who was there— Émile and his cronies. He’d gone to school with them, all marrying around the same time. Though these men took their wives and children for granted—wasting their hard-earned money on beer and gambling, wandering the streets causing trouble instead of doing anything useful with themselves._

_“Kids really got you today, eh?”_

_Henri furrowed his brows, running his fingers through his hair. It was sticky from the rotten vegetables the village children had thrown at him while he’d been in the stocks. He probably did stink, though he couldn’t really blame the kids – they all did it growing up._

_“How many times you gonna get yourself locked up before you come to yer senses?” Émile went on._

_“As many as it takes to get them back,” Henri said quietly, gripping the gate beside him as he continued staring out at the woods._

_“Don’t know why you’re complainin’ so much. Got a cryin’, expensive kid off yer hands, and what I’d pay to be free of **my** mother-in-law!” the man smirked, to the guffaws of those behind him.  _

_Henri’s eyes grew wide, finally turning to face them. “What did you say?”_

_Émile grinned. “I’m just saying, you should count yourself lucky to be rid of that old foreign hag—”_

_His words were silenced by a fist to his face, knocking the man flat on his back. Henri stood over him, seething. The others backed away nervously._

_“You sayin’ I should be **glad** to lose the mother of the only woman I’ve loved?” he asked, voice quiet and rough. “To lose the child who’s the only piece of Virginie I have left in this world?”_

_Émile was dazed from the hit, looking up at Henri in shock. “N-nah, Henri. That’s not…that’s not what I meant.”_

_“That’s what I thought,” Henri said. “And if I ever hear ya speak of Beatrice Potts that way again, you’ll be gettin’ worse than a broken nose.”_

_Émile nodded earnestly, scrambling to his feet and holding a sleeve up to stop the stream of blood down his face. The others stood in a stunned silence. Given Henri’s girth, it was no surprise he **could** land a blow so easily, yet no one in town had ever seen him so much as harm a fly. They were probably wondering what had happened to him. Sometimes he wondered the same. Was there really a time he’d been known for his playful pranks, or his boisterous laugh? He could barely remember the last time he’d smiled._

Henri blinked, looking back at the sword in his hand. He’d let his thoughts wander, and the burning orange metal had dimmed. He set it back in the flames, sitting heavily on a wooden stool.

He _had_ managed to smile again, as the years passed. Though it was never real, at least not until today. He thought of Sophie, and felt the corners of his mouth curl up. He hadn’t felt like this in a long time.

_Maybe I can call on her in Molyneaux._

He felt his cheeks grow warm. _Bah! You’re a fool,_ he thought, standing and yanking the sword back out of the fire once again. Still, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he _needed_ to find her. And it wasn’t just because of that sweet voice, or the way she laughed, or how he found himself opening up to her more than he had to anyone in ten years. It wasn’t even the mystery of who she was beneath that armor. No, it was something else too…something deep inside him. He didn’t know what it was, but the last time he’d ignored this feeling, he’d lived to regret it.

He was _not_ going to make the same mistake again.

* * *

Belle woke to a strange sound. She blinked her eyes open—the fire had burned low, early morning light peeking through the curtains. Madame de la Grande Bouche was gone, which wasn’t unusual—she often left to wander the nearby halls. No doubt it was dull to stay in this room so much, though Belle couldn’t help but wonder what she thought at the sight of Adam on the floor that morning.

Belle heard the noise again, and looked over.

 _Oh dear,_ she thought, realizing he had never laid back down the night before. The sound was a faint snore as he slept with his head in what appeared to be a rather uncomfortable position on the edge of the mattress. Though he didn’t seem to mind. In fact, she couldn’t recall ever seeing him look so content, lying there on his crossed arms, back rising and falling quietly. Max must have made his way over in the night, for he was now curled up against Adam’s side and sleeping just as soundly.

Belle recalled the night before, and blushed, remembering the feeling of his fur between her fingers, the deep, masculine sigh that sounded from his throat as he drifted quickly to sleep.

She thought back to when she’d first come, and her initial fear at his form. How strange it was now to think she’d ever found him frightening. How strange that, instead, he’d become the person she felt safest with. It wasn’t the feeling of safety one might usually associate with the word—for while she was certain Adam could protect from any physical threat, this was different. It was the safety in knowing she could open herself up to him and not fear judgment, or mockery. Beyond her small family, she’d never even come close to finding that in anyone.

Belle lie there quietly, a strange, out-of-body sensation overcoming her as she realized how much her life had changed—how much _she_ had changed—in just a few months’ time. She’d experienced both the greatest heartache of her life in losing Maman, but at the same time meeting Adam had left her with the greatest feeling of…of…

She flushed as one particular word came to her mind. Her chest burned with warmth, and she suddenly wondered if this feeling were…well, _that_ feeling. The one she’d always read about in novels, but never felt herself.

At once, she sucked in a nervous breath, falling onto her back and staring at the painted ceiling above. She knew she cared for Adam, and she knew she’d never felt this way about anyone—but at the same time, it was all still so new. Could she really trust herself to know her own feelings yet? At times, she felt wiser than her years; at others, far too naïve for her own good. Right now was one of the latter, and she felt her heart racing as her anxiety built.

_Oh, Maman…I wish I could talk to you._

She dabbed he edge of her sleeve against her eyes, taking a few minutes to push away the fresh heartache. She didn’t want to cry over this, not today, not with everything else that was going on.

Rolling back over, she looked at Adam and managed a smile. He really did look peaceful while he slept. Reaching out a careful hand, she bit her lip in hesitation before brushing her fingertips against his cheek once again. The fur was soft here, softer than she’d thought it would be. She moved up to his head, and if she closed her eyes, she could almost imagine him as he might have been without a curse, her fingers running through hair instead of fur.

Belle grimaced, feeling immediately guilty. She really shouldn’t think like that.

A low rumble echoed from his chest, breaking through her thoughts. She opened her eyes, but Adam’s were still closed. Figuring he was still asleep, she let her fingers brush back over his head, bringing them around his ears and over his cheek.

Belle heard a new sound, peeking over the edge of the bed to see his long, wolf-like tail brush briefly against the floor before quieting. A wicked smirk passed over her face, and she backtracked to scratch the spot behind his ear once again.

_THUMP!_

Belle gasped, pulling her hand away and staring back at the floor. Adam’s paw had slammed against the blanketed ground, stopping the tail’s movement in an instant. Though his eyes were still closed, it was obvious by his expression that he was now very much awake.

He peaked an eye open, looking thoroughly abashed. “Just…pretend you didn’t see that.”

A laugh bubbled up in Belle’s throat, which she barely managed to contain. “Aw, Adam, it’s all right,” she teased.

He groaned, burying his face back in his arms. “I swear—that thing has a mind of its own.”

Just then, Max sat up, pawing the edge of the bed as if asking for his own scratches. Belle complied, though Adam only glared at the mutt and his wagging tail. “You’re not helping,” he grumbled.

“Oh, don’t be grouchy,” Belle chided, grinning at him. “You remember what day it is, don’t you?”

Adam blinked, before smiling wide. “Christmas Eve,” he realized with a boyish excitement, tail brushing the floor happily once again.

Belle couldn’t hold back her laughter this time.

“Will you—will you just calm down!?” he told the tail, grabbing it in a rough paw and holding it in his lap. He was clearly trying to remain irritated, but Belle’s laughter quickly eased it away and he was chuckling alongside her.

“I don’t know why I even _try_ to maintain any kind of dignity anymore,” he said, sighing. His eyes seemed happy, though.

Belle shook her head at him, sitting up and quickly tying her robe closed. _“So_ , what’d you get me for Christmas?” she asked casually.

“Who says I got you anything?” he replied, finally giving in to Max’s nudges and brushing a paw down his coat.

Belle gasped. “I’m sorry! I…I didn’t mean to assume…you certainly don’t need to…I mean, I was only joking …”

He glanced over at her. “So was I.”

“Oh! Adam!”

He only snickered, which earned him a pillow to the face. His laughter was muffled as it hit him, then died away as the pillow slid to the floor. His expression seemed momentarily dazed, before a mischievous grin crossed his lips.

 _Oh dear,_ Belle thought, realizing her mistake. Before she knew it, he had reached over and gathered her up in the large comforter. She felt not unlike a very tightly wrapped crêpe as he pulled her off the bed and into his lap.

“What are you—oh!” she cried, feeling something tickle her waist through the fabric. “Oh, no! A-Adam! I—I can’t—ah! Ah ha ha!”

His snickers returned in full force, and for a long minute Belle was lost to her own laughter.

“Unhand—” she managed at last, completely breathless. “Unhand me—at once— _sir!”_

“As you wish,” he conceded, still chuckling as his fingers stilled. He stared down at her, still completely at his mercy in her blanket cocoon. His blue eyes gleamed with mirth.

“I am very cross with you,” Belle declared, even as she smiled ear to ear. “ _Very_ cross.”

He snorted. “Yes. I can tell.”

“Don’t look so victorious.”

“Why not? I finally found a way to tickle you without—” He stopped, glancing down at his claws.

 _Without hurting me,_ she realized, noticing a bit of the joy fade from his eyes. She managed to wiggle her arms out of the blanket, wrapping them around Adam’s shoulders. He seemed to realize they were still bare, eying his shirt across the floor and swallowing roughly. Belle only pulled herself closer against him.

 _This is who you are,_ Belle wanted to tell him. _It’s all right._

He glanced down at her then, and she wondered for a moment if she had spoken aloud. But no, it was simply that look, _again._ What was he thinking? Whatever it was, that feeling from before had now returned in full force to her chest, and Belle found it suddenly difficult to breathe.

Adam gave her a half smile, before looking away towards a point across the room. Towards the large mirror over the hearth.

Belle sighed. At least they’d had a _few_ minutes to forget about reality. “…What are we going to do?” she asked, following his gaze.

He screwed up his lips, looking contemplative. “Well, first we’ll need to talk to someone who knows this place inside and out.”

“Don’t you?”

“Er, well, not _all_ of it. Exactly.”

“You’ve lived here your whole life and you don’t know what’s in each room?”

“It’s a big castle!” he said defensively.

“Oh, the poor prince lives in a house too large to know all its—ah!” Belle cried as he started tickling her again. “I take it back!” she laughed. _“I take it back!”_

He stopped, looking amused, though she noticed the tips of his ears had turned a little red in embarrassment. Belle hid a grin. “Well,” she prodded instead. “Who could we ask about—”

She stopped, and they both seemed to come to the same conclusion.

“Cogsworth.”

* * *

“This is yet another example of the late neoclassic Baroque period. And, as I always say, if it's not Baroque, don't fix it!”

Cogsworth and Belle laughed in unison, though Adam frowned. He’d heard that joke only about…a _hundred_ times before.

“Now, then, if I may draw your attention to the flying buttresses above the...”

“Cogsworth.”

“Yes, my lord?”

Adam sucked in a deep breath. “We didn’t ask for a tour, we asked for an _inventory,”_ he said through gritted teeth. His anxiety from the night before had come back in full swing as they moved through the palace. It was reminding him just how many rooms there really were. “How many mirrors does this place contain?” he prodded.

“Ah, yes, well,” Cogsworth said, stopping in place and raising a brass hand to his chin. “Let’s see—there are three hundred and forty-nine bed chambers, one hundred and twelve living spaces, seventy-four bathrooms, sixty-two lavatories, the Great Hall, oh—and the ballroom, of course...”

Adam furrowed his brows, trying to do the math. He’d never been very good at arithmetic, as much as his tutor had pounded it into him.

“Then, of course, you must consider the number of mirrors in each,” Cogsworth continued. “The bedrooms will each have at _least_ one—more commonly two—wall mirrors, plus typically a standing one and, of course, any hand mirrors lying around…and I believe about half the parlors, bathing rooms and lavatories likewise hold one apiece. Plus the ballroom, of course, has fifty-four separate frames on its own, and the Great Hall hosts a couple dozen.”

“Dieu,” Adam said. “That’s, um…”

“Twelve hundred and forty-nine,” Belle noted.

Adam raised his brows in surprise, staring down at her in bewilderment.

“I mean, assuming the bedrooms have three mirrors a piece…” She trailed off, blushing as she caught his stare. “…What?”

“Yes, precisely,” Cogsworth agreed, as though he’d come to the same conclusion. Adam seriously doubted it.

“We also have other reflective surfaces to consider,” Belle reminded them. “Anything flat and silver, the glass vases, standing water, possibly some of the jewelry, the clock faces—”

Belle stopped, and she and Adam both glanced down at Cogsworth. He looked nervous.

“There are also the windows,” Adam added quietly. “At night—they create a reflection in candlelight. That’s where she appeared to me yesterday.”

“And any time it rains,” Belle noted. “We’d have to watch for puddles that form from leaks or from the tower windows.”

They were all silent at that.

“This…this is impossible!” Adam cried at last, running his claws over his head and beginning to pace the long hall.

“Well, of course it is,” Cogsworth said, recovering. “Why do you think we never did anything about it before?”

 _Maybe because I didn’t **know** about it before, _Adam thought with some bitterness. It made sense, though. His father knew how the enchantress could travel, yet hadn’t done anything about it either. Had he come to the same conclusion?

“There may still be a way,” Belle started. She looked up at Adam, thoughtful. “Perhaps…well, perhaps we don’t need to get rid of _all_ the reflections. We could just remove them from certain areas.”

Adam’s mouth formed a small ‘o.’ “Like a safe zone,” he realized, starting to smile.

“Exactly!” Belle said excitedly. “We could just remove them from where we sleep, since that’s when we’re most vulnerable.”

“Yes, yes that’s brilliant,” Adam said, smiling wider. _“You’re_ brilliant!”

Belle flushed a bit, though she looked pleased.

“We should choose a centralized location,” he said, thinking quickly. He paced the hall once more before coming back to them. “The West Wing. It’s the most secure,” he decided, looking back down at Belle. “I’m sorry, but you’ll have to give up the Gold Room.”

She didn’t seem upset. “It’s all right,” she smiled, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear.

“I can set the night guards around the perimeter, and throughout the castle,” Adam went on. “They can’t fight too well in their forms, but they could at least give us warning if the enchantress enters another part of the palace.”

“An excellent idea, Master,” Cogsworth piped in. “I’ll speak with Sire Gilles about it at once, and send the servants to prepare a suite for the mademoiselle.”

 _“La Suite de la Reine,”_ Adam directed. The Queen’s Suite.

Belle’s eyes grew wide, glancing up at him. Adam cleared his throat, but only nodded. Besides its grandeur, comfort, and the proximity to himself, there was an important reason he’d chosen that room in particular.

* * *

Belle laid the last of her borrowed gowns over her arm, glancing back across the room to see if she’d missed anything. Beside her, Adam stood with a tall stack of books in his arms that rested under his chin, her satchel swung over his shoulder. Belle grimaced—she hadn’t realized just how many books she’d gathered in her room over past few weeks.

“Will you be coming, Madame?” she asked, looking up at the wardrobe.

“Oh heavens, no,” the woman chuckled. “Sorry dear, but this bulk doesn’t scale those West Wing stairs like it once did. In fact, after making it down to the festivities tonight, I’ll probably be camping out there until—” She stopped, her wooden features contorting oddly. She cleared her throat. “Until I, ah, find the strength to make it back up.”

Belle nodded, then ran over and wrapped her arms around her.

“Oh, dear girl,” she said warmly. “You take care. You’ll have the master nearby now, right?” she winked.

Belle flushed a bit, glancing back at Adam and nodding. Together, they left the room with her items in tow.

“I’ve offered to carry her down,” Adam said quietly once they were out of earshot of the Gold Room. “But she turns me down each time. Though I suppose it _would_ be a little…odd.”

Belle laughed, imaging Adam hauling the large woman down the staircase. That would be a sight to see.

They moved deeper into the castle, eventually reaching the stairs leading up into the West Wing. It seemed brighter than usual, all the sconces lit and casting away the shadows that usually pervaded this wing. The servants had already been here, then.

Adam guided her to the left, and Belle started to wonder if they weren’t heading straight for his room. They stopped before reaching his chambers, however, moving into the room just adjacent.

Belle’s eyes grew wide as they entered. Her old room seemed no more than a coat closet in comparison. The first thing she noticed was the windows—eight of them in a row, spread across one wall and overlooking the open gardens below. The view was framed by the snowy peaks behind. Thick curtains hung on each side that could be drawn shut for privacy.

She looked to the ceiling next. A chandelier, in a bedroom? Not only that, but this ceiling was painted as well. This art was not limited to a small oval as in the Gold Room, however, but covered the length of the ceiling and several of the walls. Mainly landscape scenes, with a few more cherubs floating between pink-tinted clouds.

She slipped off her shoes, feeling the soft, plush Persian rug beneath her feet. It was enormous, covering the entire length of the room—which itself was as large as the barn where Molyneaux hosted its annual dances. The bed was twice as large as her old one as well, set in a carefully crafted frame, a tall canopy overhead with rich purple fabrics pulled back by golden cords.

Adam was crouched beside the hearth, arranging her books on a shelf when he glanced back at her. “Is it…all right?” he asked.

Belle nearly laughed. “I do feel a bit small for it,” she admitted. “I’m quite certain you could house an entire troop in here.”

He chuckled at that.

“But it’s beautiful,” she said sincerely. She glanced back out the windows, imaging spending some hours reading along the seats beside them. “Especially the view.”

He smiled, almost as though he knew she’d say that. “We should be able to draw those curtains in the evening to prevent any reflections,” he noted. “And I’m going to try to take down that chandelier today as well.”

Belle looked up. Hundreds of reflective pieces of glass—yes, that could definitely pose a problem.

Adam had stood again, looking carefully around the rest of the room. “Looks like they already removed any other small objects that could be an issue. Sorry it’s a bit bare in here.”

Belle’s mouth fell open. The room was usually even _more_ ornate than this?

“I’ll have to take care of this, though,” he went on, standing before a large vanity with a grand, hinged mirror at its back. He ducked down to examine its screws. “A basic slot, perhaps a ligne wide?”

He continued muttering to himself, so Belle went to sit beside the window, gazing out over the grounds. “I’m a bit confused,” she said a minute later.

“Mmm?”

“You said this was the, um…queen’s room?” she asked. For some foolish reason, her cheeks grew warm.

He cleared his throat. “Yes.”

“But I thought…I thought _you_ slept in your parents’ old room.”

“I do,” he said, standing tall once again. “But, well…the fact that they actually liked each other enough to share a room was a bit of an anomaly. Most monarchs of the past much preferred their own quarters.”

“Oh,” Belle said softly. “That’s…that’s a bit sad.”

“Yes. I agree.” Adam watched her for another long moment, before seeming to come to himself. “There’s a reason I chose this room, though, besides the proximity,” he said suddenly, moving back to the bookshelves. Belle followed, curious.

Adam reached out, before pausing and glancing back at her. “You’re going to like this, I think.”

Sucking in a breath, Belle watched as he pulled a book loose from the middle shelf. But no, it wasn’t a book—only a lever painted to appear so. He stepped back, then gently pushed against the bookshelf’s side. It slide easily away, revealing a small door behind it.

Belle gasped excitedly. “A secret passage?!”

Adam grinned. “Called it.” He turned the deadbolt, unlocking the door and holding it open for her.

Belle peeked inside. It was quite dark, but she ducked into the small opening with boldness. Adam took a bit longer to follow, considering he was several feet too tall for the entrance. The passage had a low ceiling itself, and she felt an old rug beneath her feet. As far as she could tell, there was nothing here in the way of ornateness, though Adam’s frame did block most of the light from behind them.

“Sorry,” he said. “I don’t remember it being so small.” He managed to squeeze past her, and she heard another click and something sliding across the floor before more light was spilling from a door not a few paces away. Belle recognized the large oak bedframe, the soft glow from the enchanted rose on a small corner table.

“My room,” he explained, clearing his throat. “Each door locks from its owner’s side, and from in here. I’ll leave mine unlocked, though, in case you need to reach me this way.”

Belle nodded. “But…why is this here in the first place?”

“The old monarchs didn’t, uh, _always_ want to be apart,” he said, wrinkling his nose. “But…mainly for this,” he went on, opening a third door between the other two. Belle moved over, looking inside. A tight, narrow staircase descended into the darkness below.

Belle’s eyes grew wide in excitement. “Where does it go?” she asked.

“Beyond the outer walls,” he explained. “All the family rooms have their own connecting passages. My ancestors were worried about attacks and assassins long before our witch came along,” he said, huffing a bit of fur from his eyes. “Anyway, this would get them to safety if the castle’s forces were overwhelmed.” He looked back down at the winding staircase. “Unfortunately, that means my uncle knows all about these tunnels too. They wouldn’t be much use if he decided to show up again. They were designed for foreign invaders, not familial ones.”

Belle frowned. She’d nearly forgotten about King Victor.

“I used to get in loads of trouble for playing down there as a kid, though,” Adam went on, smirking. “It was supposed to be ‘for emergencies only.’”

Belle grinned. “I can’t blame you. I’m tempted to go explore them right now!”

“Oh, I wouldn’t do that yet. No one’s been down there in years.” He paused, leaning close. “There could be rats.”

Belle shuddered. “Ah, yes. I’ll hold off, then.”

He chuckled. “I’ll ask Cogsworth to send someone down to check it out today. But for now, just know it’s here in case…you know.”

Belle suddenly frowned. This was starting to feel very familiar to a conversation they’d had in the bunker weeks earlier. “Adam…what _do_ you plan to do if she shows up?”

His expression grew dark. He looked away.

“You’re planning to fight her, aren’t you?” she asked nervously. “To…to kill her?”

He inhaled deeply. “From what we learned yesterday, my father’s mistake of letting her escape only led to my mother’s death, probably his, and my entire household being cursed,” he said at last. “I’m not one to seek revenge, Belle. But if she threatened you, or any of the others, then yes. I would kill her.”

Despite the conviction with which he spoke, he seemed troubled, as though the two parts of his nature were at war with one another. To his protective side, this was clearly the right path. His gentle nature, however, was obviously strained at the idea.

For Belle’s part, she far less concerned with any morality issue than with how he would manage the task without being cursed further…or even killed himself. She felt her heart fly into her throat at the thought.

“I’m not a child anymore,” he said, almost to himself. “I’m not defenseless like I was when she first came. And I _will_ protect the people I lo—” He stopped. “The people I…care about. No matter what.”

Belle only nodded. She couldn’t argue with that. She would just have to hope they were being paranoid and that the enchantress would never show up at all. Something, however, told her that was wishful thinking.

He shut the door to the stairwell, then his own, leading them back into her room. “You can always use that space simply to hide inside, too,” he said.

“I sense you speak from experience.”

He let out a laugh, dispelling some of the tension. “Yes. I’m afraid I wasn’t very fond of dinner parties as a child.”

“And why not?”

“Well…I had to wear these stupid shoes that pinched my toes. And listen to old men talk about land treaties.” He made a face. “I hated it.”

Belle suddenly imagined the boy from the portrait at table surrounded by noblemen, trying not to look utterly bored as he attempted to slip off his shoes without being noticed. Somehow, it was no longer difficult to imagine that child being Adam.

“Sacrebleu, it’s already past noon,” he was saying. Belle looked up, following his gaze out the west-facing windows where the sun was just coming into view. He looked back over at her. “I, um…I have something to do.”

“Something to do with Christmas?”

He smiled a little. “Maybe.”

As he left, Belle turned back to the room, taking another look around. Her eyes caught a tall, cream wardrobe near the bed, though this one did not greet her. Just as she felt a pang of loneliness, she heard light scratches against the floor out in the hall. Max soon ran inside, sitting beside her and pawing at her leg.

She crouched beside him, glancing back at the wardrobe. “Shall we see what kinds of things a royal would wear?” she asked him.

Max gave a short bark, and Belle stood, moving over and pulling open the tall cupboards. She braced herself for the moths, but none came. It seemed these clothes had been tended to over the years, despite their disuse. The first gown was made of bright red silk, trimmed with golden thread in intricate patterns along the sleeves and bodice. Beautiful lace trailed the bust and careful ruffles graced the hem. The next was a deep violet covered in blue floral patterns with a long train carefully folded beneath it.

Belle had never cared too much for fashion; it was an expensive taste and, frankly, the less attention she drew from Gaston, the better. But she couldn’t help but look through the remaining gowns, in awe at the detail put into each pattern. She had never realized clothing could be so much like art.

“Do you think they wore these every day?” she wondered in amazement, glancing back at Max. He only cocked his head at her.

She was about to shut the cupboard once again when something bright caught her eye at the back. She pulled back the dresses in front with some effort—they were quite heavy, especially in bulk—and managed to slide the remaining gown free.

Belle’s breath caught at the sight of it. Silk, in the exact honey-yellow color of sunflowers in summer.

It was a color that reminded her of days spent atop her father’s shoulders, hands spread wide and fingertips brushing the soft petals surrounding them. Of days walking through the fields with Maman, hand in hand despite the dirt coating their fingers, sprinkling water over the dry ground. Belle closed her eyes, and she could almost feel the sun’s warmth, see her mother waving at her from between the tall sunflower stalks, hear her parent’s laughter as she raced to catch up with them.

They were happy memories, some of the happiest she could remember, and even more precious to her now. She brushed the moisture from her eyes, looking back down at the gown with fondness. Strange how a simple dress could make her feel this way. The gown itself seemed to glow in the sunlight now streaming into the room, and Belle couldn’t help but hold it against her and give it a spin in the middle of the large rug. She came to a stop a few moments later, laughing at her childishness as she moved to the single remaining mirror for a better look.

In a way, it was simpler than the other dresses—no vibrant patterns across the fabric, no large sleeves or long trail that would drag across the floor. And though it felt lighter than the others, it still had a full, round skirt and soft ruching trimmed with satin waves. The sleeves were short and loose, meant to frame the shoulders. Belle held the gown up to her own shoulders, suddenly wondering what it might look like on. She’d never worn anything like this before.

She quickly shook her head. “No…I shouldn’t,” she said to herself, resisting the temptation to try it on. “People like me aren’t meant to wear such things.” People like her weren’t even meant to wear the fine dress she was currently wearing. Still, just the sight of this new gown had lifted her spirits.

“Come on, Max,” she said, hanging the dress back up in front of the others and shutting the wardrobe doors with care. She grabbed her satchel, heading towards the door. “I still need to wrap Adam’s present.”

* * *

“Try to keep them close together, sweetie.”

Chip jumped rim-first into the dough, before hopping back upright on the countertop. “Like that, Sophie?” he asked, dumping the circle out of his cup and onto the tray waiting to go into the oven.

“That’s perfect! Maybe you’ll grow up to be a baker,” she chuckled. She pulled the remaining cookie dough off the counter, mashing it back into a ball and starting to roll out a second sheet.

“Nah. I’m gonna be a blacksmith, like my Papa!” Chip said proudly.

Sophie froze. “…What did you say?” she breathed.

“Mama says he made lots of things people needed—like horseshoes, and tools, and even swords!” He paused, thoughtful. “Though I’ll have to figure out how to do all that without hands,” he laughed. He grew serious once again. “Do you think I’ll melt?”

“I’m not sure,” Sophie said quietly, still taken aback. She’d never even heard the child mention his papa before. As far as they all knew, Chip’s father had abandoned him after the curse. What else could explain why he’d never come looking for his son?

“Mama only told me about him ‘cause I asked,” Chip went on quietly, porcelain rim raising in what could only be interpreted as a shrug. “I guess he didn’t like us very much, though. Mama doesn’t like to talk about it.”

_“Had a little boy, but, um…I lost him soon after his mother. Been over a decade now.”_

Sophie stood still in place, staring at the rolling pin in her hands. Henri’s story suddenly seemed familiar… _too_ familiar. But how could someone like him have abandoned his son? He’d seemed so heartbroken when he mentioned his loss.

Or perhaps what she’d perceived as heartache…was actually guilt.

Sophie could have sworn she felt her heart sink inside her chest, setting the rolling pin down and wringing her metal hands together as she stared out the kitchen window towards the forest beyond. Could she have really misread Henri so badly?

She shook her head. Surely it was only a coincidence. Though just in case, she knew she should probably find a time to speak with Mrs. Potts very soon.

“Sophie, are you okay?”

She looked back down at the little boy on the counter. “Of course, sweetie! Just checking to see if Papa Noël is here yet,” she fibbed.

Chip laughed. “He won’t come ‘til we’re asleep, remember?”

“Oh, that’s right. How could I forget—”

“Sophie?”

She looked up. The master was bounding down the stairs, nearly knocking his head against the low ceiling at the bottom as he moved towards them.

“Hi Master! We’re making _sablés bretons_ for you and Belle,” Chip said eagerly.

“Oh, yum,” he said quickly, before looking at Sophie in earnest.

Figuring she knew what he wanted, Sophie turned to Chip. “Think you can cut out the rest? I’ll be right back,” she promised.

“Okay!” he agreed, jumping head—er, rim—first into the dough.

Sophie followed the master out the back door and towards the workshop. Once they were inside he turned around, biting his lip in anticipation. “So, did you…manage to find anything?” he asked.

Sophie sighed dramatically. “I’m sorry Master, what with everything that happened…”

“Oh,” he said, shoulders sinking in disappointment. “That’s…I mean, it’s okay—”

“Just kidding!” she said happily, twisting off one metal hand and letting several dozen tubes of oil paints fall onto the workshop desk. From the other, half as many brushes spilled forth.

“Yes!” he cried in excitement.

Sophie chuckled, pulling off her helmet and digging out a flat wooden palette and a small box locked with a metal knob. “These are watercolors,” she explained, opening the box and revealing two rows of solid paints and several hollowed out spaces for mixing. “Considering neither Sire Gilles nor I knew what we were doing, we just got some of everything,” she shrugged.

The master was only half listening, arranging the supplies in neat rows across the countertop and grinning ear to ear.

Sophie snickered. “You’re so big Master, sometimes I forget…you’re still just a kid, huh?”

“Hold on now—I’m twenty years old!”

“Like I said.”

He huffed, though the smile didn’t go away. Sophie glanced at the easel in the corner, which looked like it was just missing a final prime before it was complete. “Speaking of which,” she went on slyly. “You should’ve seen all the boys after Belle out in Beaumont. Must’ve been two dozen of them vying for her!”

“Wait…what?” he said, looking up nervously.

“Oh, don’t worry,” Sophie assured him. “Belle wouldn’t have any of it. Turned ‘em down _flat!”_ she laughed.

“She…she did?” he said, ears starting to perk up.

“Well sure—she’s with you, isn’t she?”

“I guess,” he said, scratching the back of his neck and looking away. “I just…there are real men who want to be with her, and she still…”

“Chose you?” Sophie prodded. “Well of course, Master. Did any of _them_ build her an easel?”

He let himself smile a little. “No,” he admitted, a hint of pride in his eyes as he glanced at the gift across the room.

“Besides—you’re a real man too, and don’t forget it.”

The master raised a brow at her. “I thought you said I was a kid.”

* * *

“You need not worry, my lord,” Gilles said, secured to Adam’s waist as they moved through the halls near the West Wing. “We’ll have a man at every corner of the palace. You should have plenty of warning of any intruders.”

Adam nodded, moving down the stairs. Several of the guards were already in place, the others to move into position following the night’s festivities. They had already done of sweep of the corridor where he and Belle would be sleeping, ensuring no reflections remained that could pose a threat. Though Adam still felt certain he wouldn’t be sleeping well from here on out.

“Sire Gilles?” he asked a moment later.

“Yes, my lord?”

Adam frowned, glancing around and finding the present hall empty. “Belle mentioned a tale that the enchantress told her,” he stated quietly.

Gilles was silent for a moment. “Master, it is not…well, it is certainly not a story one would wish to repeat.”

Adam frowned. “I would wish to hear it regardless,” he said.

The man sighed. “…As you wish, my lord.”

As Gilles related the tale, Adam grew nauseous, suddenly wondering if he should have heeded Gilles’ warning after all.

“My God,” he breathed as Gilles finished. “That’s…I wouldn’t…I would _never…”_

“Of course not, my lord.”

Knowing the witch herself had woven the tale, Adam could have been rightfully angry. But instead he felt a sudden fear, images of a murderous monster flooding his mind. Images of _himself,_ thrusting his claws into—

He shook his head, swallowing against the sick in his mouth and staring down at his paws. “The enchantress…she did say…” Adam paused, biting his lip. He hadn’t told anyone this before, but decided to go on. “She did say I might become more of a…a _beast,_ over time,” he admitted.

Surprisingly, the swordsman appeared unfazed. “And have you, my lord?”

“Have I?” he asked in confusion.

“Become more a beast,” Gilles clarified. 

Adam felt his chest swell with a sudden confidence. “No,” he said firmly. “No, I haven’t.”

“And there you have it,” the man concurred.

He thought back to the tale he’d just heard. The tale _Belle_ had heard. “Belle heard that story…and she still came back?” he asked, obviously knowing the answer but still in shock that it was really true.

“Yes, Master,” the man replied warmly. “It seems you need never doubt her trust in you.”

Adam smiled, breathing in a deep breath that warmed him head to toe.

“You know, my lord,” Gilles went on. “As much as I’ve always wished for this curse to end, I never truly thought there was someone out there worthy of you,” he admitted. “And I know I’m not the only one who thought so.”

Adam looked down, raising his brows in surprise.

“Master, you must…you must know how we all care for you,” the man said quietly, almost nervously. “After all these years, well…many of us feel as though you were truly our…our…”

 _Our own,_ Adam realized. He ducked his head. “I know,” he said simply. _I feel the same._

“Ah, well, as it is,” Gilles went on quickly. “It seems I was wrong. That girl…well, I never did have children, you know—but I’d adopt her in a heartbeat.”

Adam chuckled. “You’re going to have to fight Maurice for that job when he returns.”

* * *

“Oh, wow.”

Belle paused, her bedroom door half shut behind her. “What is it?” she asked nervously.

“Nothing,” Adam said quickly, looking at her for another long moment before glancing away. “You just…you look beautiful.”

Belle flushed brightly, trying to hold back a smile.

“I mean, you always do,” he said quickly. “But I meant in a, um…Christmasy way.”

Belle laughed a little, unable to tame the warmth in her cheeks. In truth, she _had_ put some extra care into her appearance tonight—it was Christmas Eve, after all. And her first one spent with…well, with someone special. She wore one of the nicer dinner gowns, a deep red in an open-robe style revealing a golden under layer. Sophie had even offered to do her hair, which was pulled into an updo, a thick braid crossing just behind her hairline, a couple soft waves left loose beside her ears.

“You look very nice too,” Belle told him.

Adam rolled his eyes. “Oh, brother.”

“You do!” she insisted. “The green suits you.”

He ran a hand over his head, glancing away sheepishly. “Thanks.”

“Though…I might be a little biased,” she went on. “I did help Violet with a lot of that stitching.”

Adam looked down at his jacket, then back at her. “You did?”

“Well, I _do_ still try to make myself useful sometimes.”’

He looked almost…amazed. “ _Thank you,”_ he said sincerely. He offered her an arm, and they made their way happily down the west stairs.

Belle’s smile grew wider the further they went. The banisters throughout the palace were wrapped in garlands and ribbons, hundreds of colorful candles lighting the corridors. A few leapt from their places as they passed, following them into the library.

Belle’s mouth fell open as they walked inside. Every inch of the room was decked with greens and golds, even up to the highest banisters. The tree’s candles seemed to sparkle against the tall windows, and it looked like the entire staff had already gathered for the celebration. The women had ribbons tied about them in elaborate bows, some of the men with small twigs of holy secured to their surfaces with bits of string, reminiscent of boutonnieres. The large hearth roared with life, and a long table spanned the one side of the room, filled to its edges with gourmet dishes. These, apparently, were meant to be consumed by two people.

“Did Chef Bouche think he was feeding an _army?”_ Belle whispered nervously, suddenly wishing she had skipped lunch.

“It’s all right…I can handle it,” Adam replied. She caught him licking his lips as he eyed the dinner hungrily, and laughed.

They filled their plates themselves—Adam had told her earlier it had been customary before the curse to let the servants off for Christmas Eve supper, so no footman came to help them dish up. And even though it was just the two of them, he seemed reluctant to break tradition. Belle was happy for it—it made things feel more like her own celebration back home, and seeing everyone else chatting happily around the room gave the evening a pleasant familiarity.

They soon found seats along the edge of the room, feasting happily on their meals as someone struck up a fiddle. Belle looked up as a second joined, two of the coatracks filling the room with bright, festive music. It wasn’t long before a dozen plates were spinning joyfully in a circle at the center of the room, each partnered with a candlestick or one of the men from the stables. It was much like a country dance, no doubt inspired by one, and Belle soon found herself clapping along happily to the music.

“Mon amour,” she heard, looking over to see Lumiere bowing gracefully to Fifi, who giggled happily and followed him out to join the others. Belle glanced over at Adam, who was just sitting back down beside her with his third plateful.

“They did this before the curse, too,” he said, watching the others pleasantly before returning her gaze. “I used to come watch. I always thought the country dances looked fun.”

“Do you know any?”

He shook his head. “Sorry.”

“It’s all right. I don’t either.”

He furrowed his brows. “You don’t?”

“Well, usually you learn them at the village dances, but I’ve only been to one.” Adam still looked confused, and Belle sighed. She hadn’t meant to bring this up tonight. “It was just…You-Know-Who sort of took most of the fun out of it for me,” she admitted.

In truth, Gaston had practically forced her to be his partner for the first three dances, and being younger and less assertive at the time, she’d claimed fatigue to avoid him for a fourth. Which meant, of course, she couldn’t stand up with anyone else. She’d returned home early that evening, and avoided all the village dances thereafter. It hadn’t been worth the tears of disappointment.

As expected, Adam looked angry, glaring out the dark window as his nostrils flared. Belle shook her head—he seemed to get more upset over Gaston than she did. “It’s all right, though,” she went on warmly. “Papa and I would just waltz around the kitchen instead.”

Adam seemed a bit placated by that, looking back over at her. “Now _there’s_ a dance I know,” he said.

Belle brightened. “You do?”

“Ahem, ahem, ahem, ahem, ahem.”

The music stopped, a few dishes finishing out their twirls as all eyes fell towards the door. Cogsworth stood there, looking unusually pleasant, a sprig of pine secured to one brass knob. “Come, come! Everyone to the chapel,” he directed brightly, ushering the crowd through the door.

Adam set his plate aside, standing and offering Belle a hand. She slid her fingers through his, sucking in a nervous breath as they moved out the door with the others.

“Uh…Belle? Are you all right?” he asked, looking down at their hands as they moved through the candlelit halls.

Belle came to herself, realizing she had been squeezing his hand much more tightly than she’d meant to. She forced her fingers to relax. “Oh, I just…I’m suddenly getting nervous.”

He cocked his head. “Nervous? For what?”

Belle smiled a little. “You’ll see.”

By the time they reached the chapel, the pews were packed, the room glowing with living and inanimate candles alike, windows lined with greenery and pleasant carols coming from the old organ.

“Now, Monsieur Lumiere,” the old Bible spoke while Belle and Adam managed to squeeze into one of the front rows. “I realize it is a festive time, but I would remind you that we _are_ in a house of the Lord.”

“Of course, _Mon Père,”_ Lumiere said absently, giving an exaggerated wave towards the organ. The woman burst out in several strong chords of an upbeat carol. “But what is _la veille de Noël_ without a little…music?”

Laughter filled the room, and was soon replaced by a joyous chorus of _Fum Fum Fum_ as the organist began the first verse _._ Belle smiled wide as she sang along herself. She glanced up at Adam, catching his eye.  

“Won’t you sing tonight?” she asked hopefully.

He shook his head, leaning down to whisper in her ear. “I already told you. I sound like a dying animal.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’re just being dramatic,” she teased.

He pouted at that, reaching for the side of her songbook and grumbling something that sounded very much like _I’m not dramatic_ under his breath. He cleared his throat, picking out a few of the bass notes of the next verse.

To Belle’s surprise, he could actually carry a pitch quite well. True, the notes were a bit… _growly,_ perhaps, but beneath that they rang true. She reached for his hand, smiling when his voice gained more confidence.

“Footmen!” Lumiere called out several carols later. A dozen candlesticks shot out of their seats, joining him atop the pulpit and starting into a bold arrangement of _O Viens Emmanuel,_ which was met with the applause of clinking plates and wooden handles that pounded against the floor.

“Madame, mademoiselle…I believe it is your turn, no?” Lumiere asked, taking one last bow before turning towards Madame de la Grande Bouche and Belle both in turn.

Belle sucked in a breath, pulling her hand free from Adam’s as she stood. He looked surprised, but quickly smiled as he realized why she’d been nervous earlier.

“Ready, dear?” the large wardrobe whispered as they moved up the short steps and turned to face their audience.

Belle looked out over the crowd of animate objects—her friends, the people she’d known for but a few months but already felt like her family. She looked shyly at Adam, who was now grinning in excitement. She smiled back, feeling emboldened as she turned towards the organist and gave a nod. The introduction notes rang out across the tall ceilings. Belle took a deep breath, and sang.

_“Un flambeau, Jeanette, Isabelle –_

_“Un flambeau! Courons au berceau!”_

_“C'est Jésus, bonnes gens du hameau._

_“Le Christ est né; Marie appelle!”_

Beside her, the madame joined in, her rich vibrato adding a beautiful harmony to Belle’s light, clear notes.

_“Ah! Ah! Que la Mère est belle,_

_“Ah! Ah! Que l'Enfant est beau!”_

Belle’s confidence only grew through the following verses, and she felt her heart race as they finished and the room broke into cheers—the noise of which was most certainly making the old Cardinal cringe. Belle felt her cheeks glowing, giving a short curtsy and moving quickly back to her seat.

Adam’s arm was around her in an instant. “I was right,” he breathed.

“Right?” she asked, trying to tame the shaking in her hands as she finally glanced up at him.

He looked right at her, eyes soft in the dimming candles around them. “You _are_ an angel.”

* * *

The candles began to burn low during the Mass that followed, and Adam felt a peace in his heart he hadn’t felt since the Christmases of his childhood. Belle leaned against him, beautiful as ever, hand growing loose in his as her eyes fluttered shut. Cardinal Marius’ voice drifted through the chapel, echoing off the high ceiling as he ended the verse and let his heavy pages fall shut.

The others began to file away in a tranquil silence, and Adam gave her hand a squeeze.

“Oh,” she breathed, looking a little dazed.

“Ready for bed?” he asked warmly. “I heard Papa Noël won’t come until we’re upstairs.”

Belle laughed quietly, sitting up and looking around. “Speaking of which, where’s Chip?”

A quiet clanking against the floor answered her. Sophie stood from between one of the pews, cradling a sleeping teacup in her hands as Mrs. Potts hopped along beside her. “We’ve got the little one,” Sophie whispered. “I think we managed to wear him out.”

Adam smiled. Chip might be getting a little old to still believe in Father Christmas, but most of them hoped he wouldn’t figure it out anytime soon. Given the boy and all those around him had been touched by magic his whole life, perhaps Chip didn’t see anything peculiar in the idea of a man who could deliver gifts around the world in one night.

Adam stood, helping Belle to her feet, and they trailed behind the crowd as everyone made their way through the quiet castle. The palace guards were in place for the night, an assortment of spears and swords in position along the halls and surrounding the perimeter to the West Wing. Sire Gilles himself rested at the base of the stairs, handle bending in a quiet nod as the young couple made their way up the steps.

At Belle’s new bedroom door, Adam stopped. _If we were married, we wouldn’t stop here,_ he realized, heart starting to race. He glanced towards his room at the end of the hall, imaging what it might be like to lead her there, to climb into bed together and hold each other throughout the night.

He sucked in a nervous breath. _If you just tell her how you feel, that could happen!_ he told himself, pursing his lips and looking down at her. Surprisingly, she looked nearly as nervous as he felt.

“Belle?” he asked. “Are you all right?”

She glanced up towards the ceiling, biting her lip. “Y-yes,” she said shyly, bringing a hand up to the back of her neck before casting her eyes aside. After a moment of hesitation, she motioned for him to come closer.

He leaned down, wondering what she wanted to say as he turned his ear towards her. However, instead of a whisper in his ear, Adam felt something soft press against his cheek.

“J-Joyeux Noël,” she whispered quickly, cheeks burning as she escaped into her room.

Adam stood, dumbfounded. He raised a paw to his cheek, slowly registering what had just happened. _Was that…a kiss?_ he wondered in shock.

Unbreathing, he looked up, eyes catching something green hanging from above the door. A twig of mistletoe hung there, secured to the doorframe with a red bow.

That had definitely not been there when they’d gone downstairs that evening.

Adam managed to hobble to his room, shutting the door and padding slowly towards his bed. He paused, then fell heavily on his back, staring at the canopy above. He laughed, grinned ear to ear, then laughed again, burying his face in one of the pillows and finding it impossible to sleep for a long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, I listened to hours of Christmas music in JUNE so I could be in the mood to write this chapter. Now I’m like…a little sad it’s not actually Christmas haha. 
> 
> The song Belle sang is one of my favorites, and I just discovered it actually originated in France in the 17th century, so she totally would have known it. There are several English translations, but here’s one:  
>  _Bring a torch, Jeanette, Isabelle!_  
>  _Bring a torch, to the stable call_  
>  _Christ is born. Tell the folk of the village_  
>  _Jesus is born and Mary's calling._  
>  _Ah! Ah! beautiful is the Mother,_  
>  _Ah! Ah! beautiful is her child!_


	16. Chapter 15

“Joyeux Noël, Gaston.”

Gaston continued to examine his reflection in his knife’s sharp blade, digging a bit of meat out of one tooth with his tongue before sighing in satisfaction and flinging the knife straight into the center of a dartboard across the empty tavern.

He sensed someone moving closer, spotting a parcel drop to the table beside him. He glanced up. “Ah…Paulette,” he noted.

The girl frowned. “ _Claud_ ette.”

Gaston shrugged. He didn’t really care which one it was. Any one of them was good enough to at least keep him distracted until Belle came around. He simpered, grabbing the girl’s wrist and tugging her into his lap.

Claudette giggled a little, and Gaston didn’t hesitate in pulling her mouth against his and letting his hands roam over several places they shouldn’t.

“Gaston, wait!” she gasped, reaching for the package on the table and holding it up between them. 

He huffed, doubting this could be better than what they _could_ be doing, but tearing the paper open nonetheless. He tugged out something soft and red. A tiny swath of fabric—it looked completely useless. He heard a quiet whimper across the room, looking up to see the other two triplets watching from near the door. The one in the green dress was crying into her hands, while the one in amber was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed and staring at Gaston with narrow eyes.

“They’re infant linens,” Claudette explained nervously.

He looked back at her, and frowned. Stupid woman—what made her think he’d want something like this?

Claudette bit her lip, before going on. “Gaston, I’m…I’m with child,” she said quietly. “You’re going to be a father.”

Gaston was silent for a long moment, then pushed her roughly off his lap. She stood on unsteady feet, her quiet excitement slowly replaced by confusion…then hurt. Of course, Gaston didn’t notice either of these things, standing and dropping the ridiculous gift into her hands.

“You’re confused,” he stated. “That’s just not possible.”

Her eyes grew wide. “But…but we…”

“Did nothing,” he said darkly. He suddenly pulled on his best smirk, rubbing her head and undoing several of her carefully placed curls. “I know how much you like me. Who wouldn’t?” he laughed cruelly. “But I’m gonna marry Belle, see? Can’t go taking on every whore who went and got herself in trouble.”

Claudette flinched at his words, enormous tears starting to spill down her face. “B-but you said…you said you cared about me…” she choked out.

Gaston hummed, bringing a hand to his thick chin. She was probably telling the truth—he usually said whatever it took to get what he wanted. He’d grown quite good at that, in fact.

He heard footsteps then, the triplet in yellow moving over quickly and wrapping her arm around her sister. She glared up at him, her pretty face distorted as she wrinkled her nose.

“You have to provide for her, at least,” this new one said. “She can’t marry now, not after this.”

Claudette started to sob, but Gaston merely let out a bark of laughter. “Not _my_ problem.”

The sister in yellow clenched her teeth. “We’ll—we’ll tell everyone what you’ve done. We’ll—”

She stopped, gasping as a large hand struck her face and knocked her to the floor.

“Laurette!” Claudette cried, falling to her knees beside her sister. The third one—Paulette, by default—ran over, stopping and looking up at Gaston in fear before dropping down beside them.

Gaston was no longer smiling, pulling his hand back and clenching his fist. How dare this…this _woman_ talk back to him? It made him want to strangle something. “You think they’ll believe you?” he snarled. “What wench _wouldn’t_ tell such lies to be with the greatest man in town?”

Laurette pushed herself onto trembling arms, eyes full of silent tears as her sisters steadied her. “You’re not the greatest man in town, Gaston,” she whispered. She glanced towards the window, huffing in dark amusement. “Belle was the only one who saw it. She…she really was the smart one.”

Gaston frowned, trying to process that. Belle didn’t think he was the greatest man in town? _Oh! That’s because she thinks I’m the greatest man in the **world!** _ he realized, letting a wicked smirk cross his face once again as he stomped towards the door. The triplets flinched as he passed, but he paid them no mind. It was an unfortunate loss, but he’d been starting to get bored of them anyway. Besides, being as gorgeous as he was, he was never in need of admirers who could replace them.

He threw open the tavern door, grabbing a rifle on the wall and welcoming the crisp morning air. A good hunt would clear his head—he just needed to kill something. He smiled; he felt better just thinking about it, strutting across town and accepting several mugs of warm ale from his sycophants, enjoying the _Joyeux Noël_ s called out to him across the square.

Had he stayed behind a moment longer, however, he would have heard something of great interest to him.

“We should have done what Belle did,” Laurette breathed, skin tender beneath her bruising cheek as her eyes followed him out the door. “We should have run far away from you.”

* * *

“You have to close your eyes.”

Belle raised a brow, standing beside Adam in the hall just outside the library, a pretty red nightgown sticking out from beneath her robe. He’d also foregone getting dressed that morning, throwing his own robe on over the loose trousers he slept in before racing down at first light to set up her gift.

“It's a surprise,” he clarified, grinning at Belle’s expression.

“But…didn’t you wrap it?” she asked.

“I couldn’t wrap this.”

“What in the world…” she wondered aloud, though she bit her lip in excitement and closed her eyes obediently.

He pushed open the door, reaching for her hands and pulling her slowly into the room.

The chatter of voices met them, much of the household already awake and, having seen the gift already, were nearly as eager to see her reaction as he was.

“Can I open them?” Belle asked, head moving towards the sounds of the others. A few people laughed.

“No, no. Not yet,” Adam said, guiding her beside the tree before dropping her hands. “Wait here.” He rushed over and tugged the large curtains open further, letting the scene of freshly falling snow paint the backdrop before spinning around rearranging his gift one last time.

 _“Now_ can I open them?”

“All right,” he agreed, sucking in a breath. “Now.”

Belle opened her eyes, blinking against the light before her eyes swept across the room and fell to the easel on display beside the tree. A large canvas was secured in place, several others leaning against its side along with a half-dozen smaller packages resting on the floor.

“Oh,” she breathed, taking a step closer before stopping and bringing her hands to her cheeks. “Oh…oh!”

“You...you like it?” Adam asked hesitantly.

“Like it?” she laughed, rushing over and sitting on the stool at the easel’s side. She ran over fingers over the smooth, polished frame, bringing her hands to her face once again. “It's wonderful!”

Adam beamed.

“Where did you get it?” she asked in shock, tearing her eyes away from the gift to look up at him.

“Well, I…” he started, rubbing the back of his neck.

“He _made_ it!” someone cried, to a few chuckles behind them.

Belle’s mouth fell open, looking back at Adam for confirmation. He shrugged a bit shyly, eyes growing wide at the last moment as she rushed over and flung her arms around his neck.

He’d have made her a hundred of them just for that.

“Can we go in _now,_ Mama?” a muffled voice came from the hall.

Everyone laughed, and Adam followed Belle’s gaze towards the door, his arm sneaking around her waist. “All right, Mrs. Potts. You can send them in,” he called out.

Not a second later, a teacup came bounding into the library, spinning to a stop at the base of the tree before diving into the pile of gifts. A couple horse brushes and a large bucket rolled along behind him, the stable boys nearly as eager as Chip to finally see what awaited them under the tree.

“Slow down, Chip!” Mrs. Potts chided, following them inside atop Anne’s tray. “Let the master pass them out. Some of those are to share, I believe.”

Adam smirked, looking back down at Belle. “Will you help me? Then you can open the rest.”

Belle glanced down, as if just realizing there were more gifts at her feet. She bit her lip in excitement, nodding as they moved towards the others.

The board games were a hit, a half dozen set up within a quarter hour that drew small crowds of adults who watched with as much interest as the children played. Belle taught everyone the rules of the games, and Adam found himself teaming up with Chip for a couple rounds before the boy felt confident enough to play on his own. His laughter rang out in the large room as Adam and Belle snuck away.

Belle sat back at her new easel, touching it with reverence. Adam wondered if she’d guessed what was in the remaining packages.

“Here,” he said, handing one up to her.

Belle bit her lip excitedly as she untied the string, unwrapping the gift with care so as not to wrinkle the wrapping.

“You can just tear the paper,” Adam chuckled.

Belle cocked her head at him. “Tear it? But then…how will you use it next year?”

Adam blinked, then felt a moment of guilt. Were wrappings something people usually saved? He never had, not as a child anyway. He pursed his lips, realizing the palace’s material challenges over the last decade were nothing compared to what Belle had lived on her whole life.

“Sorry, I…I forgot about that,” he said quietly. Belle finished unwrapping the gift, a dozen tubes of paint falling into her lap. Her delight was more than enough make him smile again.

“I did have help getting these, I’ll admit,” he noted.

Belle looked up, raising a brow. “Wait a minute…were we ever _actually_ missing ginger?”

Adam grinned sheepishly. “No.” He caught Sophie snickering somewhere behind them.

“I _knew_ you two were acting suspicious,” Belle grinned, taking the next parcel from Adam’s hands and opening it with haste. “Oh!” she cried again, revealing the small box full of watercolors. Her reaction was much the same for the others, barely able to look at the new brushes, paints, and palette without covering her face in shock. She soon had them all gathered in her arms, pressing the supplies fondly against her chest, unable to stop smiling.

“One more thing,” Adam started.

“Oh Adam! This is too much,” she insisted.

He only grinned, glancing towards the floor. “Master Pascal?”

The stool beneath Belle shifted, and Belle jumped up in alarm. “I’m so sorry!” she cried. “I didn’t realize that was you, Monsieur.”

The stool only chuckled. “Do not be alarmed, mademoiselle. I’m simply here upon our lord’s request to offer you an apprenticeship, if you so desire.”

Belle blinked, looking at Adam in confusion.

“Master Pascal was trained for many years in Florence,” he explained. “He was our palace artisan before the curse.”

“Ah, yes,” the man went on. “If only I’d been holding a paintbrush instead of resting upon this cursed stool at the time, perhaps I could have continued to be of use all these years,” he said with regret. “Nonetheless, I’m quite impressed by your skill, my dear. You have the potential to be a great master, I believe.”

Belle sucked in a shallow breath. “But I’m…I’m a woman,” she said hesitantly. “I’ve never heard of a female master.”

“You may not have heard of them, but they exist—though many would like to believe they do not,” Pascal went on, before sighing. “I’m ashamed to admit that I once held a similar mindset. But I’ve come to see that the only reason we rarely see the female contribution in such things is because we refuse to instruct you.”

Belle looked close to tears. “You’ll…you’ll really teach me?” she asked, still uncertain.

“With pleasure, child,” the man assured her. “In fact, I would not be surprised if you taught me a thing or two.”

“Th-thank you,” she said, looking thoroughly overwhelmed as two quiet tears slipped down her cheeks. “Thank you, Adam,” she breathed more earnestly, hugging the supplies closer to her heart and pressing her face into his chest.

He wrapped his arms around her slowly, unprepared for this reaction. To think she’d be so shocked at a chance for a position she was more than qualified for. But then he recalled his own mother’s passion for the arts—she’d been self-taught, hadn’t she? Why hadn’t she gone to university? Perhaps…perhaps she _couldn’t._

Adam furrowed his brows, wondering what it would feel like to be a woman born into this world and denied any opportunity to grow in the ways you wished. And suddenly, even with everything he’d been through, this seemed to be the most humbling.

Belle pulled back, attempting to dry her eyes but letting a few brushes slip from her arms in the process. She caught them quickly, laughing a little and resting the supplies carefully beside the easel before looking back at him. “I’m afraid my gift is quite humble compared to yours,” she grimaced.

Adam shook his head, watching as she stepped carefully to the back of the tree. A few moments later she returned, a medium-sized parcel in her hands. They sat on the rug, the sounds of young laughter behind them as Belle handed him the gift.

Adam remembered not to tear the wrapping, letting it fall away and staring at the pile of novels in his lap. He smiled, unsurprised, lifting up the first and turning to the title page. It was an adventure novel of sorts—and despite having a library filled to the brim, this was one he’d never seen before. He felt a bit of excitement in his chest.

“They were all published, o-or at least widely circulated, within the last decade,” Belle explained nervously. “I checked—none of them are in your library. I’m sorry they’re so worn, though. I didn’t…well, I didn’t feel right using your own money to get you a gift…”

It was then Adam’s eyes caught something written on the inside cover. _Belle Dupont,_ it said in careful cursive, though her handwriting looked different. Younger. He pulled out the next, and saw the name once again written in, indicating its owner.

“Belle…these are yours,” he realized. The pages were slightly yellowed, the bindings worn indicating their use. Belle had shown him her home once, through the mirror, and he recalled the old bookshelf beside their small hearth. It looked like it had once housed several dozen works, though only a small fraction remained after selling the rest to try to care for her mother. Adam looked down at the five books sitting in his lap— it must have been nearly all she had left.

“It’s all right,” she was saying. “I’ve read them so many times, I probably have them memorized by now.”

Adam knew she was playing it down. Belle’s books were some of her few and most prized possessions, and the condition of these revealed how very much they’d been loved by their owner. And while their monetary worth might have been minimal, Adam knew he was holding a great treasure.

“I know you don’t really need more books,” she went on, staring into her lap. “But I wasn’t, um, sure what else I could—”

She was cut off as he pulled her into a tight hug. “This,” he started, pulling back and looking down at her, “…is the best gift I’ve ever received.”

She sighed in relief, eyes brightening as she smiled up at him. How could she have been so worried? Didn’t she realize anything and everything she did made him happy?

 _Wow. I really am in deep,_ he realized, smiling dumbly to himself. He looked back down at the books, grinning to himself. He really was excited to read them. “So…which one should start with?”

* * *

An old work horse plodded along the Northern Pass, its rider fidgeting anxiously with the reigns.

“What am I doing?” he asked aloud for the umpteenth time, yanking roughly on the reigns and turning the old steed slowly around.

He stopped, however, the thought of that sweet voice making his heart swell once again.

“Already made it this far, right boy?” Henri asked, turning the horse back towards Molyneaux and giving it a good pat on the neck. The horse only huffed, no doubt sick of his rider’s indecision.

A half mile later, the road turned sharply south, hugging the edge of the woods to his left. Henri stopped, looking around. It was different than he remembered, and though it had been years, it would be hard to forget this place. He stared into the dark woods, the old path almost entirely covered with young growth. Momentarily forgetting his objective, he slipped from the saddle, falling heavily in the snow and taking several steps away from the road. He stopped just beyond the trees, sucking in a nervous breath. No guards blocked his way anymore, but he’d long since feared something else that lie beyond those trees.

_Twenty-five…twenty-six…twenty-seven…_

_Henri crouched in the dark trees, an old stopwatch in one hand counting the seconds between each guard rotation. He couldn’t see the clock face itself, but if he held still he could feel the gentle ticks of the clock hand as it vibrated against his palm._

_He wouldn’t fail this time. He’d been watching Victor’s guards for a solid week now, resisting the urge to sprint through the trees when an opportunity seemingly presented itself. That hadn’t worked in the past, nor had charging in on a stolen steed, and Charles was right—if he was caught one more time, he’d be facing worse than the stocks._

_No, he had to be more careful. This was his last chance. And tonight he was going to take it._

_His heart seemed to pound in his throat, and he was suddenly struck with nerves, watching the same patterns of the guards for another hour before gaining the courage to move._

_The light of a lantern broke through the thick trees, a guard winding his way through the brush and disappearing less than a minute later. Just as the light began to fade, Henri stood, legs aching from crouching for so long. He ignored that, stepping as quietly as his heavy frame would let him, relying on the moonlight to guide him past the place the man had just moved and into the depths of the forest beyond._

_Twenty-seven…twenty-eight…_

_A new light appeared behind him, and Henri tucked himself silently behind an old oak. He’d made it further than he’d planned, but his heart still raced until the light disappeared once again._

_Henri repeated the process, gaining but a dozen paces with each pass of the guard. It made for slow progress, but he couldn’t risk making any noise. He forced himself to be patient, forced himself to feel the soft ticking against his palm, to scan for the best place to hide and giving himself plenty of time before that light appeared once again. Besides, even with the full moon, it was difficult to move through the thick brush without alerting anyone to his presence. And the moonlight itself was like the double-edged sword in his belt—though it helped him navigate without a lantern of his own, it only increased the chance of him being spotted._

_A quarter-mile in, and he started to relax. Another, and he abandoned the pocket watch all together, standing tall and staring into the dark forest. The glow of the guard’s lanterns were too far away now to be visible, and so was he._

I made it, _Henri realized, feeling the tears burn in his eyes. He shook his head quickly. He wasn’t there yet—and he still wasn’t sure what he would find once he made it. He pulled the sword from his hip, unwinding the thick cloth that had muffled its sound before replacing it in its sheath. He did the same with a small lantern, pulling two spark rocks from his pouch and lighting the wick before standing once again and looking around._

_He’d always thought these woods quite beautiful in the light—he’d spent many summer evenings wandering the trails while courting Virginie, at least when she’d been well enough to. Though if she grew tired, he’d just pick up her petite frame and carry her back to the palace in his arms._

_He sucked in a breath, blinking roughly. Best not to think about that now._

_He looked ahead once again. The woods no longer held their former beauty for him, but were now a fortress, a prison for the innocent that had been nearly impenetrable until this night. He frowned, quickening his pace as he sought for the main path._

Crunch!

_He grimaced at the noise, looking around nervously before lifting his foot to see what he’d stepped on. But there was nothing but dry grass beneath his boots._

Crunch!

_He heard it again, but paces away, and his heart fell into his chest. He wasn’t alone, and he had a feeling whoever was here was more dangerous than a soldier and musket._

_The growling came next, and Henri set the lantern down, reaching for the blade at his belt with a trembling hand. The wolf’s face appeared a moment later, teeth glinting in the moonlight, body thin, eyes hungry._

_“You won’t take me,” Henri breathed, gripping the sword he could barely use in both hands. “Not tonight. I’m getting my son back, see?”_

_The wolf paused, as though considering his words, but soon tossed back his head and howled. Another called back, echoing across the darkness. Then several more, each closer than the last._

_Henri had bolted at the first howl, racing as fast as he could through the darkness, tripping over invisible roots and scratching up his arms on spindly branches. He was broad, and strong—useful for hauling barrels or pounding a heavy mallet repeatedly against hot iron. Not so useful when one needed to dash quickly and quietly through the trees._

_The wolves were on him within minutes, surrounding him on three sides and forcing him in the opposite direction. Where had they all come from?_

_Lost and gasping for breath, Henri pushed against the burning in his legs and looking around in desperation for something he could climb. Yet none of these great trees had branches within his reach._

_He heard a snap of sharp jowls just behind him, crying out in surprise. They were upon him again, and in his shock and exhaustion he tripped over an invisible root at his feet._

_“No!” he cried, watching in a moment of horror as the pack of wolves bolted towards him at once._

BANG!

_The gunshot was harsh against his ears, but Henri took the chance to quickly scramble to his feet and look around. Deep yells rang out from the darkness, a half dozen lanterns moving swiftly in the air towards them. Another shot was fired, and he ducked, covering his head._

Damn it! _he thought._ Those creatures led me right back to the start! _He watched the wolves begin to flee at the gunshots, tempted to run off with them rather than be caught by the guards one more time._ What should I do? _he wondered desperately. Would it be better to run, or to try and hide before they spotted—_

_Before he could finish the thought, a hard force rammed into his head from behind. All went black._

* * *

_Henri woke to a throbbing headache. He lifted a hand to his skull, feeling a large bump shaped like the barrel of a gun. His arms felt heavy, thick chains encasing his wrists and ankles._

_His heart sank into his stomach._ I failed, _he realized._

_“If I’d known it was you, I’d have left you to the wolves.”_

_Henri looked up. He recognized this guard—a middle-aged fellow, a patchy beard across his cheeks, a sick look in his eyes that made Henri’s stomach turn. He looked like the kind of man he’d like to keep every woman and child in this world far away from._

_“Though, perhaps it was best. I’m doubling my wages this month thanks to you,” the man went on with a sneer._

_“What?” Henri asked. The guard just reached down and unlocked his restraints. Though confused, Henri didn’t dare question it, letting the man tug the chains away and pull him roughly to his feet._

_“This is a one-time deal,” the guard went on, letting go of Henri’s arm and shoving him forward. “He comes around here again, and we shoot him on the spot. Understood?”_

_“Of course,” an older voice replied. Henri looked up, blinking against the morning light. On the path stood old Armand, the blacksmith who had taught him all he knew._

_“Master,” he said, bowing his head in shame._

_“Come on, son. I can’t fill those orders today without ya,” he said blankly, turning his back to them and heading back down the path towards the village._

_Henri followed in silence for several long minutes, frustrated and embarrassed, but also immeasurably grateful. He wasn’t a fool; he knew the old man had bribed the guard for his release. “I owe you a great debt, Master,” he said quietly._

_The man grunted, scratching at his scraggly white beard. “I’ll take it out of your inheritance.”_

_“My…what?”_

_Armand stopped, letting Henri catch up. “I’ve never had an apprentice as skilled as you, lad, nor one so good at heart,” he admitted._

_Henri’s eyes grew wide in surprise._

_“You know I have no children,” the man went on. “So I’ll be leaving you all I got once I leave this wretched world.”_

_“I…” Henri stopped. He didn’t know what to say._

_“But I can’t do that if you’re in prison,” Armand continued, frowning. “Or dead.”_

_Henri stared at the ground. “…I can’t abandon them, Master.”_

_“I know,” the man went on. “And that makes me like ya all the more. But what good are you to them if you go off and get yerself shot?”_

_“What good am I if I give up?”_

_Armand sighed. “Henri…what do you expect to find in there?”_

_The image of rotting corpses, of bones heaped upon the earth flashed in Henri’s mind. He shook his head roughly—he couldn’t think like that. “They have to be alive,” he said, half to himself. “Why else would Victor be guarding it so heavily? He has somethin’ to hide!”_

_Armand turned towards him. “Have you ever considered that he could be tellin’ the truth?” he prodded. “That there really is a demon lurking in those woods?”_

_Henri huffed in disbelief. “That’s impossible.”_

_“It might not be as impossible as you think.” Henri raised a brow, and his old master’s expression grew solemn. “I didn’t…I didn’t want to tell you this, son. You’ve already felt the grief of one twice your age, but…but maybe you need to know.”_

_“Know what?” Henri asked nervously._

_Armand pursed his lips, but went on. “Had a nephew, some years back. Not unlike the prodigal son, that one—could always find him at some pub or another, wasting my late brother’s coin on women and ale. Then one night we found ‘im, lying in a side street, sittin’ in a pool of his own blood.”_

_Henri sucked in a breath. “Master, I’m…I’m sorry.”_

_“Bah, the boy had it coming,” he said roughly, glaring at the road ahead. “It wasn’t the murder that surprised anyone—he’d worked up a dozen gambling debts across the countryside. But the way we found him…well, no angry creditor could have done that.”_

_“How do you know?” Henri asked._

_Armand looked back at him darkly. “His heart was gone. Torn straight from his chest.”_

_Henri’s eyes grew wide. “An animal,” he breathed._

_“No,” Armand said. “This was too precise to be done by a wild beast. Though whoever did it wasn’t fully human either.”_

_Henri’s mouth grew dry._

_His master sighed, glancing back at the woods behind them. “Son, the worst you’ve imagined, well...that might be nothing compared to what you’ll actually find.”_

_Henri felt sick, following his master’s gaze towards the dark, wooded hills. It was no longer just a fortress to break through, now—but a place of his worst nightmares. Maybe Armand was right. Maybe going back would only bring him more heartbreak._

_“I know it’s hard, but ya gotta accept that they’re gone. It’s the only way you’ll start healin’.”_

_Henri clenched his fists at his side, fighting the moisture in his eyes. He knew his master was right—all logic and reason told him he should stop his foolish ventures into those woods. But he couldn’t push away that feeling in his chest that Jack was still alive._

_No, he had to. It was only wishful thinking, wasn’t it? Everyone else had accepted the facts; maybe it was time he did too._

_His son was…dead._

_Heart flooding with the sorrow he denied it for months, Henri nodded slowly and ducked his head in defeat. “Yes, Master.”_

Henri stared at the woods, feeling that old shame and heartache flood his chest once again. The soldiers had finally departed a couple years after his last attempt, and not one lost soul had emerged from the woods. Any small hope he’d clung to that they were alive had been crushed at that. And so he hadn’t dared venture back—he didn’t think he could bear to find the remnants of those deceased, those consumed by the wolves or killed by some strange demon or simply murdered at the hands of his king. No, he wasn’t strong enough to go back then.

But now…could he really continue to live without knowing the truth, even a painful one?

* * *

Peaceful noises filled the large library. Several games continued into the afternoon, a crowd of woman chatting happily, a dozen older servants snoozing along the furniture scattered across the room. Adam and Belle sat beside the tree munching on gingerbread as he showed her how to fold up her new easel.

“Do you think I could take it to Abel’s peak?” Belle asked excitedly.

“Sure,” Adam said proudly. “And to unfold it again, you just unclasp this—” He stopped, ears suddenly twitching atop his head. He stood abruptly, catching some distant sound from beyond the tall windows. The sound of heavy footfalls in the snow. The footfalls of a man.

Or perhaps…a witch in disguise.

“Adam,” Belle started nervously. “What’s—”

“Away from the windows!” he cried, rushing over as several servants scattered and tugging the thick curtains shut. Darkness fell over the room, but a few candles illuminating the space that had once been flooded with early morning light. He felt his heart in his throat as he turned around. “Is anyone outside?”

“I don’t believe so, Master—”

“Someone, start a headcount!” he ordered roughly. “And where’s Chip?!”

“I-I’m right here,” the boy said nervously, his small clinking ringing out from behind Sophie’s heel where he’d ducked to hide.

“Everyone to the West—” Adam stopped, hearing the footfalls hitting stone. The intruder was at the steps already. “Damn it! There’s no time. Stay here,” he directed. “Keep quiet, and blow out those candles as soon as I leave.” _If there’s no light, then at least there’s no reflections_ , he thought quickly, glancing towards the shimmering ornaments decorating the tree. They were small, but who knew what the enchantress was really capable of.

The calls of his guards rang out from the corridors then—they must be engaging the man at the doors already. A moment later, Adam felt a hand on his arm in the darkness. Belle looked up at him, eyes flashing with concern.

“I need to go,” he told her, digging a hand in his pocket and pulling out a ring of keys. He pressed it into her hands.

She inhaled anxiously, but nodded. “Be careful,” she breathed.

Out in the hall, Adam caught the sound of the lock turning behind him. He shouted towards the guards he passed to come to his aid as he bolted on all fours towards the Grand Hall.

The front doors remained shut, several sentries pointing towards them fiercely, rough orders being called out on their opposite side. Adam approached, pulling the door open without hesitation. If this was the enchantress, a pair of wooden doors wouldn’t stop her. And if only a man then, well…he could handle that alone.

The man stood at the base of the steps, though his footprints shown in the snow up to the threshold—the guards had managed to back him off this far, then. He held out a sword, simply but carefully crafted, his face contorted in terror at the assortment of spears and blades standing erect on the ground around him, pointed straight at his chest of their own accord.

That terror, however, was nothing compared to the look that crossed his face at the sight of Adam.

“Oh, d-dear God…” the man gasped, sword quaking in his grip. He reached up to steady it with his other hand, though he didn’t break his stance. “It was true…a demon, from hell itself…”

“Look at me,” Adam ordered, his guards parting for him as he took three large strides closer to the man.

The man only squeezed his eyes shut in response, entire body tensing as Adam closed the distance between them.

“I won’t ask again,” Adam said roughly, flexing his claws. “Show me your eyes, now!”

The man obeyed, slowly opening his eyes one at a time before looking up. Brown orbs, not red, stared up at Adam. He sighed in relief.

The man seemed to have regained himself at that, standing to his full height. “So you’re the one who took them,” he said, face contorting in pain as he held the sword aloft once more.

Adam frowned. “What?”

“My wife’s mother. My _son,”_ he said, eyes suddenly full of tears. “You’re the reason they’re gone.”

* * *

A quiet sniffle rang out from the dark library, a small teacup trembling in Sophie’s hands. “I-I didn’t mean to—to make Master mad,” Chip choked out.

“Oh, sweetie, he’s not angry with you,” Sophie said gently. “Sometimes people can seem upset when they’re really just…frightened.”

“Master’s frightened?” Chip asked in confusion. “But he’s so big, and strong…what does he have to be scared of?”

Sophie sensed a presence settle beside them. “I can’t take this any longer,” Belle whispered, sucking in a breath in the darkness. “Oh, I wish he’d come back already!”

“It’ll be all right, love. I’m certain…I’m certain it was just a false alarm,” Mrs. Potts voice echoed from nearby. Despite her words, even her voice had a slight tremor to it Sophie didn’t usually hear from the older woman.

Suddenly, several loud, angry voices seeped through the windows. The occupants in the library seemed to tense at once, and Belle jumped up and sprinted towards the window.

“Mademoiselle—” Cogsworth’s voice called out nervously.

Belle paused. “I’ll be careful,” she stated, ducking a head around the edge and being careful not to let any light into the room. A moment later she gasped, the curtains rustling as she stepped back.

“What is it?” Sophie asked.

“It’s Henri,” Belle said quietly. “From Beaumont. Henri Bollard.”

Another gasp rang out from the darkness, and Mrs. Pott’s voice was unmistakable. “What…what did you say?”

* * *

“You killed them, didn’t you?” the man said through clenched teeth. “Murdered the first good king this land has known, c-consuming—” He stopped, gasping. “Consuming all those who lived here!” he shouted in rage, even as his tears spilled into his beard.

Adam blinked. He was obviously missing some vital information here, but he knew for a fact he had never _consumed_ anyone.

“A babe…” the man went on, almost to himself. “H-he was only a babe…”

Frowning in concern, Adam motioned for the guards to back off, which they did reluctantly. “Look,” he started carefully, holding up his paws in a sign of peace. “Let me explain. I’m just a—”

“Henri!”

Heavy clanking rang off the steps. “Sophie?” the man gasped, staring at her with wide eyes. “What are you—” He stopped, shaking his head. “Doesn’t matter, you have to run! Take my horse—I’ll hold it off for as long as I can,” he said, thrusting the blade back towards Adam. In response, the spears surrounded him at once.

Adam groaned, letting his face fall into one paw. He really hadn’t handled this well at all, had he?

“Master, you have to call them off!” Sophie cried. “Please!”

“Sophie, you shouldn’t be here,” Adam said anxiously. “You need to—”

“But he’s Chip’s _father!”_

Adam froze, his guard falling silent for a long, heavy moment. “…What?” he finally asked.

“Who?” the man added, looking just as confused.

“Jack,” Sophie clarified, turning back to him. “You’re Jack’s father, right Henri?”

The man—Henri, it seemed—looked stunned. “I…but how did you…”

“Mrs. Potts told me.”

Henri breathed deeply for a long moment. “How…how did _you_ know Beatrice?”

“We all know her,” Sophie explained slowly. “I heard what you said—but they weren’t killed, Henri. They’re alive,” she said gently. “And they’re here.”

The sword slipped from Henri’s fingertips, clattering to the stone below. “I…” he gasped, staring at her with wide eyes. “My son… H-he’s really… But it can’t be…”

Sophie pushed her way past the guards, resting a metal hand on the man’s arm. “Come on, let’s go inside. I’ll explain everything.”

Henri looked back nervously at Adam and the animate weapons around them, but only nodded. Clearly in shock, he let Sophie lead him up the steps and into the castle.

* * *

“Belle, it’s me. You can open up.”

The patter of feet sounded from the other side of the library door. “Tell me something only the real Adam would know,” Belle’s voice said from the other side.

 _Ah, smart,_ Adam thought. “I, um…” He paused, thinking for a long moment, then smiling to himself. “As a boy, I had a pet salamander that escaped and found its way into Cogsworth’s jacket pocket.”

He caught Belle’s quiet laugh on the other side. “Is that true?” she asked, voice muffled as she turned towards someone else.

Cogsworth’s response was unmistakable. “Unfortunately.”

The lock soon clicked, and she pulled open the door. Light from the hall spilled into the dark room, and before Adam could blink Belle had wrapped her arms tightly around him.

“I was worried,” she said simply, voice muffled against him. She pulled back a moment later, looking back into the room. “And Mrs. Potts is _beside_ herself,” she whispered, watching as Sophie stepped quietly past them and into the large room.

“I know. Sophie’s going to talk to her before…” He stopped, glancing back where the man waited several paces away. Belle glanced around Adam’s large form, and smiled.

“Bonjour, Henri,” she said kindly.

He just nodded, looking at the two of them in some bewilderment. His breathing was shallow, and he glanced anxiously towards the room where Sophie had disappeared.

“He thought we were all dead,” Adam whispered, softly enough that he couldn’t hear.

“What? Why?”

“I don’t know. He’d only talk to Sophie—and I’m still not sure he’s convinced Mrs. Potts or Chip are really alive.” Adam paused. “And, well…I’m afraid if I get too close, the guy’s going to wet himself.”

Belle grimaced, though there was a hint of mirth in her eyes. “Oh dear.”

“You were _much_ braver when we met,” Adam went on, grinning a little.

Just then, Sophie reemerged, moving immediately to Henri’s side. “Are you ready?” she asked him quietly.

Looking down at her, he sucked in a breath and nodded.

Sophie took the man’s hand, guiding him past the others and into the grand room.

* * *

Henri had never seen the inside of the palace before, at least not beyond the kitchens. Yet he barely noticed the grand space around him, the books towering to the ceiling, the giant tree at the windows. No, he was too busy searching the room for the people he believed dead ten years ago.

“…Mère?” he asked, eyes scanning the space for…a tea set, Sophie had said?

_“We were cursed by an enchantress. Cursed to inhabit the last object we touched.”_

He shook his head—it made no sense. All of this felt like a strange dream. Perhaps it was.

“Over here, Henri.”

His eyes caught the teapot and its matching cup, feet moving on their own. He knelt before them, chest rising and falling in shock.

“Is it really you?” he asked. “Are ya really…”

“It’s us, love,” a long-lost but familiar voice spoke. There was no denying it was from the teapot itself—painted porcelain patterns moving with the words.

“Mother,” he repeated. “Oh, God…it really is you. And is this…?” He couldn’t finish the words, looking down at the tiny cup now staring up at him with wide, painted eyes of its own.

“It is. It is,” she said softly. He reached out, hesitating for a brief moment before touching the cup’s delicate rim.

“Oh, love,” Beatrice went on, sounding close to tears. “I should have never believed you’d abandon us. I should have known there was a reason.”

“I should’ve never given up on ya,” he said, heart full of regret. “I’ve missed so much. Been gone all these years, when ya needed me most. Oh, f-forgive me…” he stammered, ducking his head to hide his trembling. “Forgive me.”

He felt a nudge against his fingers a moment later. “Are you really my papa?” a boy’s voice asked. Henri looked up again, watching as the child hoped closer of his own accord.

Henri simply nodded. Forcing his hands to steady, he reached out, letting the boy hop into his wide palms. He lifted him up slowly, fingers curling around his surface, nervous the child might break with the slightest touch. He sure didn’t like the look of that chip in his rim.

At once, the reality of it all flooded over him, and he pulled the child close to his chest. “Oh, my son,” he choked out, tears dripping into his beard. “You’re here…you’re really here…”

The cup seemed to nestle closer against him. “Don’t cry, Papa,” the child said. “It’s okay.”

His tears only flowed more freely at that, and Henri lifted Jack up, pressing a careful kiss on his surface.

In response, the boy giggled. “His mustache tickles, Mama!”

Near the door, a small crowd observed in a silence permeated only by the occasional sniffle. Belle herself brought a hand to her heart, looking up at Adam with wet eyes. “I think Chip got the best gift this year,” she said quietly.

“Yes,” he breathed, eyes not leaving the scene before them. “Yes, he did.”

* * *

After some time, everyone was beckoned back into the library, the holiday joy that had been felt before returning tenfold. Chip remained nestled in his father’s hands, and though the Henri’s eyes were red from emotion, he soon had a wide grin spreading ear to ear. Adam thought the man’s smile looked quite like the one painted into the boy’s porcelain surface.

“Henri, that beard is something else!” Mrs. Potts chided in jest. “I barely recognized you.”

“Well, er,” he started, scratching at the dark blond bristles. “You’ve changed a bit too, Mother.”

Everyone laughed at that.

They talked well into the evening, several plates of food from the night before brought in to feed the tired father as he recounted the events of the past decade and answered a dozen questions from the others.

“Papa, do you really make swords and spears like Mama said?” Chip asked.

Henri smiled proudly. “Sure do. Though mostly just lots o’ horseshoes these days,” he chuckled.

“Can I come watch?” the boy asked. “Please?!”

“Oh, well,” Henri started, looking down at his mother-in-law. Mrs. Potts looked quite nervous at the idea of her delicate grandson making a journey beyond the castle walls. Henri pursed his lips, then grinned. “Tell ya what—I’ll bring my gear here and show ya how it’s done. How’s that sound?”

“Yes!” Chip cried, spinning excitedly in his father’s palms. “Oh! Papa! Wanna see me do a trick?”

Mrs. Potts shook her porcelain head, but poured some tea into Chip’s cup regardless. As he proceeded to blow several bubbles up along his rim, Belle turned to Adam. “I don’t understand,” she whispered. “Did none of you know what Victor had done?”

Henri’s hearty laugh rang out behind them, and Adam leaned down to respond. “I figured he had proclaimed the grounds off-limits, but I never imagined he’d declare the entire staff dead, or go to such great lengths to keep us hidden,” he admitted quietly. He huffed, crossing his arms and sitting back. “Though I really shouldn’t be surprised.”

“But…couldn’t you have known he was guarding the woods through the mirror?” Belle asked.

“I didn’t get the mirror until I started to…change,” he explained quietly. “That was two years later, and it sounds like Victor’s troops had left just before then.”

“Monsieur Bollard?” someone asked behind them. “Did…did anyone else come looking for us?”

Adam turned back to the others, and frowned. Most of the servants were single, or lived in the palace with their families, but several had at least some distant relations spotted across the countryside.

“I think so,” Henri replied. “Though I was away for the first few months. By the time I returned from my journey, most must’ve given up, being turned away by the guard. But…” He trailed off, furrowing his brows. “There was one older man who was still comin’ then. Said he had a daughter who worked here…Clara? No, um…” He stopped, pursing his lips before raising a finger in triumph. “Charlotte! Yes, that’s the one.”

Adam stiffened. He barely registered Belle reaching for him.

“Guards threatened him too, of course,” Henri went on. “Said if it weren’t for his other kids back home, he’d have stayed to help me break in. Say, is she here?” he asked. “He’s just down in Saint Amand—I bet I could locate him.”

Adam stared into his lap; the others had grown silent too. “No,” he stated. “She’s not here.”

Both of Belle’s hands grasped his arm now, and she was looking up at him with concern.

“I’m fine,” he said quietly, sucking in a breath and trying not to think about how Charlotte might still be alive if her family had been allowed to come for her.

Henri looked confused, but didn’t prod. “Well, anyway,” he went on, looking down at the teacup in his hands, now sleeping quietly against his chest. “It’s growing late. I ‘spose I outta, um…”

“Cogsworth,” Adam said before he could finish. “Will you see that a room is prepared for Henri? And see that some bedclothes are laid out for him.”

“Yes, Master. Right away.”

Henri looked surprised for a moment, then smiled. “Great Beast,” he said. “I’ve misjudged you.”

“Don’t call him that,” Belle said earnestly, resting a protective hand on Adam’s arm.

Henri raised his brows, looking confused.

“It’s all right, Belle,” Adam said, before turning back to the man. “In truth…I’m also one of those affected by this curse,” he admitted.

“You are?” Henri asked in surprise. “But…who?”

Adam grit his teeth. “I’m…” he started, swallowing roughly. Everyone had grown silent again, looking over at their master expectantly. None of them would reveal his identity—it was the master’s secret, after all.

“I’m…” Adam tried again, unsure what he should say. What he _wanted_ to say. He stood from his seat, chewing his lip and staring out the dark windows before looking back down at Belle. Her eyes were full of encouragement, and his hesitation melted away in an instant.

He knew who he was now. And he wasn’t ashamed.

Taking a deep breath, he stood tall and turned back to face Henri and the others. “I am Prince Adam,” he proclaimed. “Son of King Alexandre the Just and Queen Jacqueline D’Aureville. And…and the rightful ruler of this kingdom.”

A quiet awe fell over the room.

“Oh, my prince,” Lumiere said at last, bowing deeply before him. “You have returned to us.” Several others mimicked him quietly.

Adam scratched the top of his head, suddenly unsure how he was supposed to respond.

“You’re the little prince?” Henri asked.

Adam raised his brows, looking back at him. “Wait…you remember me?”

“The one who would run through the kitchens and sneak honey scones out from under Beatrice’s nose? Ha!” Henri laughed. “’Course I remember! My prince,” he said, sobering and falling to one knee. He brought an arm across his chest, fist to his heart. “In honor of King Alexandre, and for protecting my family all these years…I am forever at your service.”

“Oh, uh…” He stopped, and nodded. It seemed the right thing to do.

“Please forgive me for my reaction earlier,” Henri went on, looking up timidly. “I…well, I admit, I thought you were gonna eat me.”

A few surrounding servants chuckled at that, the formality of the moment now gone.

“Nah,” Adam shrugged, waving paw in the air. “I much prefer duck over hum— _oof!”_ he grunted. Belle had smacked him.

“He’s joking,” she told Henri earnestly, giving Adam the side eye. Henri laughed, be it a bit nervously.

“Oh, Henri,” Sophie said, moving over beside him as he stood. “You were really going to give up your horse for me and fight him alone?” she asked, resting a hand on his shoulder. “How noble!”

“Ah, well,” he shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck as his cheeks went a bit pink. “Anybody woulda done it.”

Adam raised his brows, looking down at Belle. She was watching the interaction, eyes alight and hands clasped in front of her.

“Hold on a minute,” he whispered in confusion. “How _do_ those two know each other?”

* * *

“You know, I waited weeks just to figure out your name, and you give Henri the whole thing right off?”

Adam grinned sheepishly, looking up from the pages of one of Belle’s books and glancing over at her. She lay one of her new brushes down to dry, a half-finished painting of the library resting against the easel that she was creating so Master Pascal could assess her current skill. It must have been nearly one in the morning, but she’d been too eager to wait, setting up several candles to illuminate her work. Brushing her fingers against her old work apron, Belle pulled it off and set it aside, gliding over on light feet and settling beside him on the couch. She looked up, brows raised as she awaited his response.

“Well…I never would have told him if it weren’t for you,” he admitted. “You reminded me of who I was.”

Her amusement changed to a soft smile. “You’ve done the same for me, I suppose.”

“I have?”

“Mmm,” she hummed, looking back at the easel with fondness. “I never thought I could…I don’t know. Create something that would be remembered? Become someone…someone beyond what I was supposed to be?”

Adam gave a half-smile, reaching for one of her paint-stained hands.

“Now I’ll be trained by a real _Florentine artist,”_ she whispered excitedly, looking back at him with bright eyes. “I can’t wait!”

Adam laughed, noticing a dab of green paint on the side of her nose. He reached out, wiping it away carefully with his thumb. He held it up to show her. “Well, _I_ can’t wait to see you become a world-famous painter,” he grinned.

She flushed. “I’m not off to a good start, I am?” she asked, though she couldn’t hide her smile at his words as she pulled a handkerchief from her pocket and wiped the paint from his finger. “I can’t wait to tell Papa either,” she mused. She stopped suddenly, looking troubled and staring into her lap.

“You must miss him,” Adam said quietly.

Belle nodded silently. “I feel…I feel I’ve abandoned him. Right when he needs me most.” She looked close to tears again, turning and resting her face against his sleeve.

“That isn’t your fault,” he said gently. “You said yourself the road was impassable.”

“I know. But I still feel that way. I just…I never imagined when they left for Paris that Papa would be returning alone…” She chocked a bit on the last words, wrapping her arms through his and burying her face further into his shirt.

Adam knew this kind of pain didn’t go away quickly. And he knew sometimes there wasn’t anything you could say to make it better. So instead, he reached out and ran his fingers over her head and through the ends of her hair. That had seemed to calm her in the past, and sure enough her quiet trembling had calmed within a couple minutes.

“I’m sorry. You’re probably so sick of me being like this,” Belle said at last, voice muffled against him.

“Belle, don’t apologize for that. You can cry about it until you’re ninety and I won’t mind—” He froze, realizing what he’d just said. Of course, he _hoped_ they’d be together that long, but he hadn’t meant to be so obvious about it.

Belle, however, didn’t seem bothered by the statement, merely hugging his arm tighter and sighing. “I need to return to Molyneux tomorrow,” she said a moment later.

“…What?” he breathed.

“Just for a day. I still need to ask Genevieve if she and the boys will care for our home in my place. Thinking of Papa has reminded me…I can’t keep putting it off, even if I’d rather not go back. Then I can have it off my chest until he returns in the spring.”

Adam only frowned, fearsome red eyes flashing in his mind.

“Sire Gilles will be with me, remember?” she said, as though reading his thoughts. “And I used to do this every day and nothing ever happened.”

“Except for running into the witch in disguise,” he noted.

“And did she do anything to me?”

Adam pouted. “…I still don’t like it.”

“Aw, Adam,” Belle said, cocking her head in amusement. “You can last a whole day without me, can’t you?”

“You know that’s not what I meant!” he cried. He stopped, however, humming to himself. “Though…it _will_ probably be the worst day ever.”

“Oh, brother!” Belle laughed. “You can finish that book and tell me what you think when I return.”

“I might finish two,” he said, picking back up the volume in his lap. It was open to a page about two-thirds of the way through.

“Slow down!” she cried, though she looked pleased.

“I can’t,” he admitted. “It’s too good.”

“Well, let’s go to bed so you can save some for tomorrow,” she said, releasing his arm and moving to her feet.

“All right,” Adam agreed as he followed. He forgot for the moment her decision to return to town in the morning, simply grabbing her hand and leading her quickly towards the West Wing in the hopes that a bit of mistletoe still hung above her door.

* * *

A king’s palace sat in a shallow mountain valley, surrounded by a frozen lake, its water dotted with paper lamps swinging gently along the wooden bridges they bordered. This palace was nothing like the castle of her Beast, no; for instead of cascading towers, a single flat roof sat atop the structure, curved delicately at the edges; instead of stone walls, strong wooden beams divided the bricks painted with intricate designs; instead of armored soldiers, soft-footed warriors patrolled the bridges, black sashes tied around their scalps and faces to protect them from the bitter winter air.

The enchantress smiled; it was the latter she was interested in now. Few in the world knew of these skilled archers buried deep in the mountains of the Korean peninsula. They were a group selected from the bravest warriors, sworn to lead a life focused solely on the protection of their king. A life of celibacy. Meaning that as long as they were true to their vows, the witch need not worry whether her roses would take the proper effect.

One of them approached, and she plucked a rose from her hair, tied into an intricate braid that fell to her waist. The warrior slowed as he came near, then stopped, eyes drooping at the scent. The witch emerged from the brush, letting a crooked smile grace her cheeks.

 _“Daleun salamdeul-eul delyeooda,”_ she ordered in his tongue, using a bit more magic for the communication. _Bring the others._

The man nodded dumbly as she tucked the rose into his tunic, then turned on his heel and took off in a silent sprint back the way he’d come.

The enchantress walked up to the lake’s edge, the ice covered with a fresh layer of snow. She inhaled deeply, then blew out, her breath strengthened by her magic and leaving a clear, perfect reflection in frozen surface.

A minute later, her victims approached. She let her remaining roses open in full bloom, filling the still air with their scent. The warriors all sagged at once. All, that is, except one lone man near the front.

“Who are you?” he asked in his language. “What are you doing here?”

The witch cocked a brow. _“Oh,”_ she observed in amusement. “How interesting. Tell me, _jeonsa,_ what’s her name?”

The man’s eyes grew wide, the only part of his face visible beneath his winter wraps.

“There is one you love, no?” the enchantress asked. “Quite strange, considering the oath of celibacy you’ve made.”

The man’s eyes narrowed back to angry slits, letting out a heavy breath that puffed in the midnight air. “What are you?” he asked again, whipping out his bow and cocking an arrow in the blink of an eye.

“Why, I’m the Enchantress of the E—West,” she said, correcting herself quickly. It would be West to these men, wouldn’t it?

He released the sinew bowstring, but she merely flicked her wrist and put up an invisible shield to protect herself. The arrow bounced off, landing in the thick snow, and Circe grinned, relishing in her new abundance of strength.

She frowned a moment later, however, thinking of how much power she _could_ have had if she’d spent the last several years building it up instead of leaping ahead. Ten whole years was just so _long_ to wait to see her plan to fruition. But the time had been necessary to make her Beast sufficiently desperate.

Though all it _seemed_ to have done was give him a chance to actually break the blasted spell behind her back.

She huffed. That was ridiculous. Even if he loved that peasant, there was no way the girl could ever love him back. He was _hideous,_ after all. Surely she was merely sticking around for the free meals and dresses.

Satisfied, she looked back at the warrior before her. He’d released a few more arrows during her brief musings, which now surrounded the ground at her feet. The vapor of his breath had now stopped, and he stood stone still in shock. The enchantress smirked. “Kill him,” she ordered the others. She turned towards the water, touching the reflective surface and letting it dissolve into a vision of mist as her new recruits obeyed her order.

“Enjoy yourself now, my dear Beast,” she said absently, pulling another blood red rose from her hair and staring at it fondly. “For you, too, will soon do as I wish.”


	17. Chapter 16

The twitching of his ears woke him. Adam fought against it, the events of Christmas day—though good—having exhausted him, mind and body. Yet when he heard the quiet footsteps echo off the floors, he sat up in a panic.

“Who’s there?” he gasped, eyes searching the darkness.

He heard them again, farther away this time. Somewhere beyond his chambers—possibly beyond the West Wing itself.

Already on his feet, Adam forgot such things as robes or candles as he bounded to the doors. He pulled one open and stepped into the darkness, falling still again as he listened. The footsteps were clear now, and he followed them out of the upper floors of the wing. Near the top of the stairs sat a lit candelabra, the only light in the hall besides the dim glow of the fire he’d left behind.

“Oh, Lumiere,” he exhaled in relief, slowing his pace. “It’s only you.”

The candlestick remained motionless, and Adam blinked twice before reaching over to pick the man up. But no—this wasn’t Lumiere at all, but a solid, motionless household object. Adam shook his head at himself. With a place so large, there were certainly duplicates of many objects. Of course there were other candles of the same shape lying around.

Strange, though, how he’d never seen them.

Down winding steps and beneath grand buttresses, Adam stalked the sound with bated breath while ignoring the stares of the old sculptured demons in the walls. He supposed they’d been truly rendered angels and saints long ago, but the dust and wear of time left the faces strange and their poses menacing. At least, he’d always thought so.

The footfalls led into the castle’s roots, down the old wooden steps he’d run up and down so often as a child. These days, they always creaked beneath his feet, but were oddly quiet tonight as he descended into the kitchens.

He looked out across the dark room. Barrels and boxes littered the floors, a faint light falling over the silent space from the moon that peeked its way through the small window over the sink. Adam could see bits of snow floating behind the glass. Something about it felt like…like…

 _Déjà vu?_ he wondered.

He’d nearly forgotten why he’d come when a sudden _creak_ range out from the shadows. Startled, Adam dropped the candelabra and turned, shocked to see the door held open by woman in white.

This wasn’t just déjà vu; this was a _memory._ But how?

Whatever it was, he didn’t care, flying down the steps and pushing aside the barrels with quick swipes of his paws. Yet for all his efforts, he seemed unable to reach her.

“Maman!” he cried desperately, paws tearing carelessly through a large crate. “Stop!” _Don’t leave me! Not again!_

To his relief, she obeyed, freezing in place even as she continued to stare out into the storm. Adam tore through the last crate, rushing up to her side.

“M-Maman,” he gasped, a trembling paw reaching out to her. As he found her hand, she turned back and looked up at him with sad eyes.

“You’re too late, darling,” she said softly. “Too late to stop me.”

“But Maman…y-you’re right here,” he said desperately.

She turned, looking into the kitchens. “Too late to break the spell,” she went on. “Too late to save them.”

Adam’s eyes grew wide, staring back at the candle he’d dropped to the floor, eyes catching the quiet dishes in the cupboard. A porcelain teapot and a small matching cup sat still as stone atop the stove.

 _“No,”_ he breathed in horror. “No, they can’t be gone! I still have time—”

He stopped as he turned back, a new face before him, one younger and even more familiar now. Belle looked up at him, eyes filling with tears. “Too late…to love me.”

“N-no,” he choked out.

Her hand slipped from his, and she stepped into the storm.

“Belle, wait!” he cried, rushing after her. The trees surrounded him at once, a solid force blocking his way.

“No,” he gasped. “No! Let me through!” he shouted, slamming his fists against the invisible wall. _“Belle!”_

She paused, looking back, her shape a dark outline in the moonlight. Another figure emerged beside her, red eyes bright in the darkness, grasping Belle’s arm and pulling her away. They were quickly consumed by the black forest beyond.

_“BELLE!”_

Adam sat up, gasping for breath. He blinked rapidly, his own yells echoing off the walls as the dim room around him slowly came into focus. His room.

 _A dream,_ he realized, swallowing roughly and running a paw through his mane. _Just a dream._ Yet the words from the nightmare lingered in his thoughts.

_“Too late…”_

He spun towards the corner table, the pinkish glow still shining through the cover. He didn’t care enough to count the petals now, for a fresh fear washed over him that brought him to his feet and back out into the very hall he’d just run through in his dreams.

No lit candelabra awaited him, nor did footsteps echo off the quiet walls—only the heavy pounding of his own feet as he sprinted the short distance towards her room. He slowed as he neared the door, standing still and listening closely for her soft breathing from the other side.

Yet he heard nothing.

Heart flying into his throat, he pressed an ear against the thick wood, listening for any sign that Belle was safe inside. But again…he heard nothing.

“Belle?” he called out nervously, panic filling his chest. “Belle, are you there?! I’m—I’m coming in—”

“Adam?”

He turned around, seeing Belle walking towards him from the end of the hall, a small candle in one hand and the other clutching a shawl around her shoulders.

“Where were you?” he cried, rushing over and resting anxious hands on her shoulders. “Are you all right? Did you see anyone?”

“No, no, nothing like that. I was only, um…” She stopped, looking a bit embarrassed. “I was simply using _les toilettes,”_ she admitted.

“Oh,” he said, calming a bit but still chewing his lip nervously.

“Adam…” she started, cocking her head. “Are _you_ all right?”

He frowned, looking back into the darkness.

_You’re pathetic._

The enchantress’s words came to his mind, taunting him. He shook his head. “I’m fine,” he said, pulling his hands back. “Just…just thought I heard something.”

Belle didn’t look convinced, but let him lead her back to her room regardless. She stepped inside, paused, and turned back. “Are you sure you’re all right?” she prodded.

He hummed, nodding quickly. “Goodnight.”

“…Night,” she said reluctantly.

As her door clicked shut, he huffed, plodding slowly back to his chambers. He paused before the hearth, realized he’d lost his desire to sleep, then moved across the room and pushed open the balcony doors. A fierce wind met him, and he quickly pulled the doors shut and walked across the patio to lean against the stone railing. The wind blew the fur into his eyes, but he ignored it, glaring into the woods below.

That witch…she could be anyone. Anywhere. And suddenly Adam came to a decision.

Belle couldn’t return to Molyneaux tomorrow.

* * *

“You can’t go back. It’s too dangerous.”

Belle continued securing Olive’s bridle, tossing the reins over her head. “Adam, I have to. My house is no doubt covered in dust, I need to settle things with Genevieve, and our bookseller is certainly starting to worry about me. He was one of the few people who ever showed me any real kindness. I have to let him know I’m safe.”

“We can write to them, have Henri post the letters in Beaumont.”

“I’ll still need to pay Genevieve for her help—I doubt the coin would make it safely through the mail.”

“Take—take Henri with you, then,” Adam insisted. “Or better yet, have him relay the messages in your place.”

“If the witch is really after me, I’d rather not drag Henri into this. He’s only just found Chip—I can’t risk it.”

“You shouldn’t be risking yourself!” Adam cried in exasperation. He couldn’t believe she was being so…so _stubborn_ about this. “It’s just a _house,_ Belle. I’ll—I’ll buy you a new one, damn it!”

She stopped what she was doing, eyes growing wide and looking back at him sharply. He grimaced, regretting his outburst but refusing to look away.

“What are you going to do, Adam?” Belle asked coolly. “Force me to stay here?”

He growled, turning aside and kicking at the dirt in frustration. “No,” he grumbled quietly. “Though I _should.”_

Belle huffed at that, turning her back to him and tightening the rest of the saddle in silence.

Frustrated and irritable, Adam crossed his arms and leaned against the side of the stall, glaring into a pile of hay. Several long and uncomfortable minutes passed before he looked up again; Belle had finished her task, standing stone-still at Olive’s side, her lips pursed nervously. The air felt thick, and awkward. He didn’t like it at all. 

He frowned deeply. Maybe he could let her go back, but not without making things right.

Swallowing his pride, Adam stepped over carefully, reaching for her hand, now resting on the saddle horn as she faced away from him. When she didn’t pull away, he held it tighter. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly.

Belle sighed. “I’m sorry too. I understand why this is hard for you, I do,” she said, glancing over at his chest. “But Papa gave me one responsibility—to care for our home. And I’ve already neglected it,” she said, looking ashamed. “He built that home with his own hands, Adam. I know it might be hard for you to understand, but it’s one of the few things left in this world he can be proud of.”

“He can be proud of _you,”_ Adam said honestly. “And I think he’d rather see you in one piece than your house.”

Belle’s eyes softened as she finally looked up at him. “Adam…I _like_ how you look out for me. For all of us,” she said. “But I can’t just stop living because I’m afraid something’s going to happen.”

Adam ducked his head. When she put it that way…well, maybe she was right. “It’s not that I want to trap you here,” he said, staring at his feet. “It’s just…I hate that _I’m_ trapped here. That I can’t go with you. That if something happened...”

She pulled her hand away then, arms around him a moment later. He returned the embrace in an instant, savoring their closeness as it chased away the tension.

“I’ll be back first thing tomorrow morning,” Belle said, looking up at him. “I promise."

He nodded in some reluctance, letting her go and guiding Olive to the front gates. Sire Gilles met them there, and Belle called out to Max as she pulled herself into the saddle. Adam watched, heart full of nervous energy as those three words he’d been aching to say each day flooded his thoughts. He sucked in a breath.

“Belle, wait—” he gasped, more loudly than he meant to, reaching out to her unconsciously.

She paused, reins in hands as she glanced back at him.

“I…I…” He sucked in a breath, then sighed, curling his fingers back in defeat. “I…was wondering,” he amended lamely.

“Yes?”

He chewed his lip, trying to come up with something else to say. His eyes brightened a moment later, an idea forming in his mind. “Would you like to have dinner with me tomorrow night?”

She smiled. “Of course. But Adam…we have dinner together every night,” she chuckled.

“I meant a, um…I meant a more-than-one-spoon kind of dinner,” he explained.

Belle’s smile widened—most certainly recalling their first meal together. She nodded earnestly.

Adam watched her take off in a gallop, Max sprinting at Olive’s heels, still worried but at least comforted that she had taken his fastest horse. And now he had something to keep him busy while she was gone.

* * *

“Lumiere. I’m ready to take you up on your offer.”

The candelabra cocked his head, before a waxy grin spread over his features. “Ah, _mon prince! Que c'est passionant!”_ he cried. “Just what you need to make up after your row, no?”

Adam blinked, then felt his cheeks burn. “What…what do you mean by _that?”_

“You quarreled, my lord, did you not?” the man said seriously. “Had old Cogsworth quite worried there for a minute.”

“I…but how did you—”

“Dear, when you’ve got a house full of servants, there are eyes and ears _everywhere,”_ Mrs. Potts chuckled, suddenly beside them. “But if you ask me, it was about time you two butted heads over something. I was starting to grow concerned.”

“Concerned…that we _weren’t_ arguing?” Adam asked in confusion.

“Any two intelligent people are going to have their differences, love,” she explained. “Of course, you shouldn’t fight over every petty thing—but when a couple _never_ disagrees, it’s usually a sign of an unhealthy dominion by one party. An argument every now and again is nothing unusual, even among the closest of lovers. Your own parents did on occasion, and always came out closer for it.”

“Well…I’d rather avoid it in the future, all the same,” Adam admitted, still abashed.

“I must discuss _le menu_ with Chef Bouche _,_ ” Lumiere went on. “Then gather my footmen, have the ballroom sparkling for your dance!”

“Wait…dance?” Adam asked dumbly.

“Of course! Women _love_ dancing. And what is the perfect evening without holding _ton amour_ into your arms beneath the sparkle of a shimmering chandelier? Ah, _que c'est beau,”_ he said, resting an arm above his golden chest.

Someone giggled behind them. “Oh, Lumiere! You’re such a romantic,” Fifi said, skirting over beside him.

“You would know best, _mon cheri,”_ the man said deeply, wrapping her in his golden arms and dipping her low to the ground.

Adam wasn’t paying attention, suddenly recalling his conversation with Belle a couple nights before as the servants twirled joyfully across the floor.

_“I’ve only been to one dance. It was just…You-Know-Who sort of took most of the fun out of it for me.”_

Belle had missed out on the dances growing up, and Adam was suddenly determined to make up for it. Lumiere was right; she _would_ love a dance.

He found himself smiling, wishing it were tomorrow night already, thinking back to the steps of the waltz he’d learned as a child. This would certainly be a lot more enjoyable than dancing with the spoiled daughters of a dozen visiting dukes—

“Wait a minute,” he said abruptly. “How am I going to do this? The last time I danced I was _this_ tall!” he exclaimed, holding a paw up to his hip. He looked down at his wolf-like feet, frowning. “Not to mention I had heels…”

“Mmm,” Lumiere hummed seriously, crossing his golden arms. “Perhaps some practice is in order.”

* * *

“All right—how’s that?”

Sophie lifted up her foot where she sat, rotating her metal ankle once, then twice. It didn’t stick at all. “Oh, that’s so much better!”

A quiet smile flitted over Henri’s face as he let a couple more drops of oil from the canteen drip onto the rag in his hand. He lifted her opposite boot onto his knee where he sat cross-legged on the workshop’s floor, starting to oil down the second set of hinges with care.

A moment later, Sophie let out a laugh. He raised his brows. “What?” he asked.

“Sorry, it just tickles a bit,” she admitted.

Henri’s eyes grew wide, the part of his cheeks that were visible now a deep red as he hastily set her foot down. “I-I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you could, er…feel that.”

Sophie had to bite back a laugh. The poor man—a lady’s ankles were quite intimate, after all. “Here,” she offered. “I can get my knees on my own.”

He nodded nervously, handing her the cloth before standing and sitting beside her on the bench. He clasped his hands together, staring into his lap.

“You know, Henri, I never got to thank you for your gift,” she said a moment later.

“Oh, well,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry if it was a little odd. I sorta assumed you were a soldier from the south, or somethin’,” he grinned sheepishly.

Sophie gigged a bit. “No, I like it. It was sweet,” she said, glancing down at the knife secured in its case along her belt. “And with that enchantress lurking around, I feel a lot better having a weapon on me.”

He only looked troubled at that, brows wrinkling in concern. “I still keep thinkin’ I’m in a dream,” he said, lifting one hand and pinching his arm hard. He sighed, looking out the window towards the sound of boys playing in the snow. “And it makes me angry, ya know? Some terrible stranger comes and takes Jack’s childhood away. Never havin’ legs to run on, arms to climb trees—that isn’t what I wanted for him.” He ducked his head, looking crestfallen.

“He’s happy, though,” Sophie said softly. “In fact, he’s been our little light in the darkness all these years.”

Henri smiled a bit at that. Sophie finished oiling her knees, bending them back and forth, then sitting back up to set the oiled cloth aside. However, something stopped her, and she looked over in surprise as Henri’s hand caught her own.

“Here,” he said quietly, taking the cloth from her hand and looking straight into the eye slots of her helmet. “Those finger joints might need some care as well.”

Heart or no heart, something was definitely pounding in Sophie’s chest. Henri looked back down, working the oiled cloth around each finger carefully. His hands were thick and callused, but she couldn’t recall ever feeling a softer touch.

“Sophie!”

They pulled their hands away at once, and Sophie looked up as Lumiere pushed open the workshop door and slipped inside. Cogsworth followed, nearly knocked to his back as the door swung shut.

“Sophie,” the old clock huffed, hobbling over. “We have an urgent task for you.”

“Oh,” she said, a little disappointed at the interruption. “What is it?”

“Do you know how to waltz?” Lumiere asked eagerly.

“Waltz?” she asked in surprise. “Well, yes…a little.”

“Ah, _Dieu merci!”_ he exclaimed. “If you didn’t, I don’t know what we would do.”

“I can waltz too,” Henri offered.

For some reason, Lumiere snickered at that. Cogsworth merely cleared his throat. “I believe we’ll go with the _mademoiselle_ for this one,” the clock said matter-of-factly.

“Come, come!” Lumiere cried, hopping back towards the door. “He’s only got the evening to practice, there isn’t a moment to lose!”

* * *

Belle wiped her brow on the back of her arm, looking around their small, empty cottage. She hadn’t anticipated quite how much dust had accumulated, nor the amount of snow that had piled atop the path up the hill. Her arms ached from the hours spent shoveling the walk, the afternoon spent on her knees mopping the floors. She sighed in satisfaction, however, feeling some of the guilt at abandoning the place dissipate with the completion of her tasks.

Genevieve had seemed relieved to see her, embracing the girl in a tight hug when she showed up on their porch. Belle’s heart had warmed at that, surprised that anyone had missed her at all. She’d made up an excuse about staying with a distant relative, and the neighboring family had accepted the offer to care for her home without objection.

Still, it had all taken much longer than planned, and darkness already blanketed the small village. She sighed, exhausted, but still intent on visiting the old bookseller once more before heading to bed. She glanced back towards the door—Sire Gilles rested against the wall, his quiet snore mingling with Max’s heavy breathing from where he slept beside the fire. The swordsman needed the sleep, considering he’d agreed to stand guard that night as she slept. Tip-toeing quietly past him, Belle grabbed the thick cloak Adam had given her and slipped quietly into the cold night air.

She moved quickly down the winding trail leading to the main road of the village. Most of the shops were closed this late, though several lanterns hung in the street and sent shadows dancing across the cobblestone.

 _I hope he’s still awake at this hour,_ Belle thought belatedly, rounding a corner into the village square where the bookshop was located. There, a large crowd was gathered in the lamplight, and Belle caught a loud voice echoing from its center.

“Wrestled the old brute with my bare hands,” Gaston proclaimed, patting a large, dead animal lying in the back of a wagon. He jumped up beside it, standing tall over the crowds and flexing his arms. “As you see, I've got biceps to spare.”

A very unladylike word crossed Belle’s mind, and she spun on her heel, throwing up her hood and bolting back the way she’d come before Gaston could catch sight of her.

“Belle!”

 _Too late,_ she thought, groaning. She continued moving regardless, but with a heavy _thump_ Gaston jumped from the wagon and caught up with her in a moment, the crowds parting at his will. His rough hand grabbed her wrist, holding her in place.

“Belle! I knew you couldn’t resist the chance to hear my tales of glory.”

It took every ounce of self-control not to roll her eyes at him. “You’re mistaken, Gaston. I’m only here to visit Monsieur—”

“Come, everyone, drinks on me!” he proclaimed, cutting her off and waving the crowds towards his pub across the street. They cheered as Gaston put a tight arm around Belle’s shoulders, dragging her along and pounding through the swinging doors of the tavern. What seemed like half the village occupants filed in behind them, loud chatter and harsh laughs filling the room, which smelled of liquor and tobacco. Belle wrinkled her nose, pulling against Gaston’s grip. He only held on tighter.

“What’ll it be, Belle? Brandy? Rum?” He paused, swiping a beer from a tray passing by. He took several long gulps, wiping his lip on the back of his arm before smirking. “Or perhaps your delicate senses can only handle the cider.”

“I’m not thirsty,” Belle said irritably, glancing across the crowded room in search of an opening to escape.

Distracted, she hadn’t noticed something slipping from her satchel until the object was already in Gaston’s hands. She looked up, freezing in horror as she saw the beautiful notebook held aloft in Gaston’s grip as he looked at it with disgust.

“Ugh, another one?” he chided, dangling it precariously between his fingers.

 _No, no please, not that one,_ Belle thought frantically, looking over the ale-coated floor beneath their feet, the roaring fire just inches away. “Gaston…may I have my book please?” she asked as firmly as she could manage.

Ignoring her, he flipped open the cover, brows raising at the sight. “Ah! Well, at least this one has pictures,” he said lightly, brushing a few pages aside with his dirty fingers. He paused on one, narrowing his eyes at a sketch of Adam on one of its pages. “What’s…”

Belle snapped the notebook shut, yanking it from his grasp and burying it quickly back into her bag. “It’s nothing, Gaston. Simply some drawings of things I…imagined,” she lied.

His bark of a laugh rang out in the busy tavern. “Oh Belle, you’re really something,” he said, shaking his head. “Wasting your time _drawing?_ How useless.”

Those nearby laughed along with him, and Belle felt tears burning in her eyes. _Adam doesn’t think it’s useless._

Gaston, of course, didn’t notice the hurt in her eyes as he grabbed another mug of beer from one of the passing waitresses. “You know, Belle,” he went on, “What you _should_ be doing is—”

“What, Gaston?!” she snapped. She was so tired from the day, so tired of being back around these people who cared so little about her that she suddenly couldn’t take it anymore. “Darning your socks? Cooking your dinner? Bearing your miserable children?” she spat, voice growing louder on each word.

The people around had begun to turn towards them, though in her anger Belle didn’t notice.

“What in the world makes you think I would _ever_ want to be with you?!” she cried. “ _You,_ a man who could care less about my feelings, who would threaten my family and let me _starve_ in order to—”

Belle stopped, letting out a pained gasp as sharp fingers dug into her shoulder. Gaston was staring at her with a darker look in his eyes than she’d ever seen in them. Her heart fell into her stomach, eyes growing wide as she realized what she had done.

“Ha! Good one, Belle!” he guffawed, loudly enough for everyone to hear, and his crowd of sycophants laughed openly along with him before returning to their recreation. Still, the anger hadn’t left his eyes as he said it, nor did his eyes leave her.

 _What was I thinking?_ Belle thought in horror. _What…what will he do now?_

As if to answer her thoughts, he pulled her back the way they’d come and into the freezing night air, dragging her into the adjacent, empty alleyway. Belle felt her whole body growing numb, trembling head to toe as she tried to think of any way she could talk herself out of this.

_If only I’d brought Sire Gilles into town!_

Gaston pushed her against the cavern’s outer wall, his rough hand still hard against her shoulder, thumb digging sharply into her collarbone. It took all she had not to whimper in pain.

“Belle,” Gaston began. He sighed. “I’ve tried to be patient with you, I really have.” He sounded strangely…calm. But even stranger than that, he sounded level-headed.

Belle only stared at him, swallowing roughly. _Say something!_ she begged herself. _Do something! Anything!_

“I’ve offered you everything you could ever ask for,” he went on. “And I simply ask for one thing in return.”

“But I never—I never wanted—”

His hand moved to her neck, thumb pressing hard against her throat. Belle suddenly couldn’t speak, much less breathe. She reached for his wrist, trying to pull him off, but he only pressed harder. “You will not speak back to me,” he snarled. “And you will never, _ever_ embarrass me like that again.”

Unable to do anything else, Belle only nodded, feeling her eyes water in pain before he finally let her breathe again. She gasped for a moment, limbs quaking, wishing more than anything she could just be home. And not the home she’d just come from, but the home where warm, gentle arms waited for her.

“Ah, Belle,” Gaston went on, pulling back a bit and cocking his head. “I forget…you’re still young,” he drawled as his eyes ran over her with lust. The thumb that had just been restraining her now brushed over her jaw, her lips. “Maybe you just need a little…taste of what you’re missing.”

Before she could even register what that might mean, Gaston’s mouth had encased hers, his tongue forcing its way past her lips and into her throat. Gagging, she pressed back as hard as she could against his chest, but she may as well have been trying to break through a brick wall.

 _Adam,_ she thought desperately. _Adam, please, help—_

His tongue roamed around her mouth for a long minute, hands sliding up her back and tugging painfully at her hair before he finally let her go. Belle couldn’t even respond, gasping for breath again as he pulled away.

“Ah, I see I’ve left you speechless,” Gaston said proudly, chuckling to himself.

 _Don’t cry, not now,_ Belle thought desperately, feeling a terrible shame wash over her.

“You know, Belle, there's not a girl in town who wouldn't love to be in your shoes,” he said proudly. “Come on, after that…there’s no _way_ you don’t want to marry me now.”

Belle was too terrified to even acknowledge such an incredulous assumption. So terrified that for once, she couldn’t find the courage to flat out deny him. “I-I don’t know…” she whispered weakly.

He seemed satisfied enough with that. “Well of course, you’ll want to talk it over with your… _lovely_ parents,” he said with clear distaste.

Belle only nodded, desperate for any excuse to escape. Desperate to get away before he did anything else.

“Well then, I’ll be by in the morning to claim your hand, gorgeous!” he said with confidence, ruffling her hair as if she were a dog before striding back towards the tavern.

Trembling head to toe, Belle waited until he was out of sight before sprinting home as fast as she could, all the while fighting the urge to be sick.

“Belle?”

Throwing open her front door, Belle grabbed Gilles by the hilt and called to Max to follow her into the cold. She locked the door with trembling fingers, racing towards the small stable and throwing the saddle over Olive’s back.

“Dear girl, what’s happened?” Gilles asked in concern.

Belle barely managed to get the saddle hitched, knees quaking as she forced herself up on the horse. “Sire Gilles, I know it’s late, and I know I promised Adam not to travel in the woods at night, but…” She stopped, gasping and fighting back the tears now threatening to spill out. “Promise or no promise—I can’t stay here another minute!”

* * *

“My lord, I think you’ve got it!”

“Really?” Adam asked.

“Well, you haven’t stepped on my toes for the last three dances, so I’d call that a success,” Sophie chuckled.

He grimaced, scratching the back of his neck. It was probably a good thing he’d opted to practice. It was certainly different trying to dance on large, clawed toes—and fortunately, Sophie’s metal feet had allowed him to make a few mistakes before he got the hang of it.

“I owe you one,” he admitted, then hummed. “Actually, two,” he realized, recalling her trip to town for him.

Sophie only laughed. “Tell you what—you break that spell, and we’ll call it even.”

Adam grinned. “Deal.” In fact, he planned to do just that tomorrow night. Lumiere was right—after dinner and dancing, he had the end of the night planned such as to create the perfect moment to tell her the truth. His heart raced at the thought, but what had only been nerves up until now was giving way to excitement.

“Might I have the next dance, mademoiselle?”

Adam turned around, watching Henri bowing deeply before Sophie. “Me too!” Chip cried, poking out of his father’s vest pocket.

Sophie giggled, letting Henri lift her metal hand in his own, his hand resting against her armored side as they began sweeping across the large ballroom. The fiddling coatrack who’d accompanied them before picked up his instrument once again at the sight. Chip laughed from between them.

 _There’s a lot at stake here,_ Adam realized. He’d been so distracted by his growing relationship with Belle lately, that he’d nearly forgotten all that would truly change once the spell was broken. Thoughts turned to her again, he moved into the hall, picking up the enchanted mirror he’d left on a corner table. He’d already checked on Belle about a dozen times since she’d left, having relaxed a bit once she’d made it safely to town. Still, he couldn’t help but check once more before heading to bed.

“Show me Belle’s safe,” he ordered.

He waited, expecting to see her warm cottage with a light in the window to convince him of her safe return. But nothing happened.

 _“Show me Belle’s safe,”_ he repeated slowly, growing nervous.

Again, the mirror didn’t respond.

“Sh—show me Belle!” he cried, grabbing the delicate handle with both paws.

It responded at last, showing Belle atop Olive, racing through the dark woods. What was she doing? She shouldn’t be riding back yet—it was well past sunset already. She didn’t seem to be in danger, but…if she was safe, wouldn’t the mirror have responded to his first question?

“What threatens her?!” he demanded, already racing towards the palace entrance. The mirror glowed once again, and Adam’s heart flew into his throat at the sight.

Sharp growls echoed from the reflection, a pack of wolves staring back at him.

* * *

“H-hurry, Olive!”

The horse galloped harder through the forbidden woods, but the snow lining the path to the castle grounds slowed even the strong animal’s progress. Belle didn’t dare stray from the road, however, even with the howling creatures closing in on them. No; attempting to navigate the thick trees was surely a death trap.

Belle gripped the reins harder, knuckles numb from shock and fear. Gaston in Molyneaux, the wolves here? Was nowhere safe?

 _Adam was right!_ she thought in panicked regret. _I should never have left!_

“Pull me free,” Gilles said quickly, the growls of the wolves growing closer by the minute. Belle obeyed, sliding the blade from the scabbard at her hip. “Keep a firm grip, but relax your arm if you can,” he went on, surprisingly calm. “I will guide it myself.”

Belle did as he said, at least as best she could. She felt the sword shift in her grasp, raising her arm on its own, Gilles holding himself aloft to her side. Soft padding against the earth alerted her to the pack, now nearly upon them. Max was barking madly at them, snapping his teeth at any animal that edged too close to the trail.

“Guide Olive on,” Gilles continued levelly. “I can cut the wolves down as we ride.”

Belle nodded, snapping the reigns with her free hand and trying, impossibly, to keep calm. The wolves gained more courage the further they rode, and were soon surrounding them on each side.

In an instant, her arm was pulled down sharply, Gilles slicing through the flesh of one beast as it came too close. Blood splattered across her skirt and Olive’s bright white coat. Belle gasped, but grit her teeth quickly and forced herself to focus on the path ahead. She caught something in the corner of her eye—sharp claw marks against a tree. Adam’s markers—the edge of the palace grounds.

Her arm was forced across her body, slashing at a wolf on their other side. The attack missed, but the animal pulled back all the same.

Suddenly, the sound of more heavy paws against the ground rang out from the dark trees just ahead of them. Olive slowed, neighing in alarm and backing away. The wolves behind took the opportunity to surround them, but a moment later something enormous emerged from the shadows and sent the creatures scattering.

Adam landed on the path, rising to his full height, a powerful presence in the dim moonlight. He turned back to Belle, stepping over quickly and pulling her close in one arm. His free paw swept gently over Olive’s coat, the strokes of her master calming the frightened animal in an instant.

“Cover your ears,” he whispered. “And don’t be afraid.”

He released Belle as the wolves started to circle them once again. Belle raised her hands to her ears, the growls replaced by the loud pumping of her own pulse inside her head.

A terrifying roar flooded the air, like the war cry of a dozen creatures at once; it seemed to shake the very forest itself. And that was dampened as it was beneath her hands. Belle couldn’t imagine how loud it would have been had she not been covering her ears.

Belle looked behind her after her initial shock, watching as Adam finished his cry, the wolves scampering several paces away in fear. He bared his teeth, dropping to his paws and bolting towards them. The animals scattered further, and Adam stood tall once again, sucking in a deep breath and roaring a second time. The pack sprinted off at that, disappearing into the darkness.

Shoulders sagging, Adam turned back slowly. It was impossible to read his expression, not amid the darkness, not with the way her heart was ramming against her chest.

He was beside her again in a heartbeat. “Can you still ride?” he asked.

Belle blinked at him. “I…” she breathed, feeling Gilles’ bloody hilt in one hand, watching as the forest began to spin around her. She swallowed, forcing her vision back into focus. “I can.”

He grabbed the reins she must have dropped in her shock, placing them in her hands. “Ride swiftly, and hold to the road. I’ll stay beside you.”

Belle nodded, too filled with emotion to wonder how he would keep up with them. She simply gave Olive a kick, less desperate than before, leaning low as they took off towards home. Heavy thumping followed them, and Adam was soon beside her, sprinting on all fours.

He could run as fast as a horse.

The rest of the journey was eventless, the towering gates of the castle never looking more welcome to Belle as she sped through them. Adam pushed himself to his feet as they approached, slowing to an upright run and letting Max through the entrance before turning and locking the metal gates in place.

Belle forced her stiff fingers apart, releasing the reins and sliding awkwardly off the horse onto shaking feet. Adam steadied her a moment later, breathing heavily. The freezing air clouded around their faces as they moved through the snow to the palace steps.

Inside, the grand hall was quiet, lit by a few distant candles, the air still cool but significantly warmer than that outside. “Why are you back?” Adam asked sharply. It wasn’t directed at her, however, but at Sire Gilles.

“My lord.” Gilles had managed up the steps to the palace on his own, blade still coated in the wolf’s blood. Belle realized must have let him slip from her fingers earlier. “My apologies. I—”

“He t-tried to convince me to wait until dawn,” Belle said quickly. Her teeth were chattering—whether from the cold, or lingering fear, she didn’t know. “But I…I was afraid that he’d c-come back, that he’d realize I lied to him—”

“Who?”

“—that he’d do something _worse…”_

“Worse?” Adam asked anxiously. “Worse than what?”

Belle felt a lump growing in her throat, fighting back fresh tears. “Oh Adam, I’m so sorry. You were right—I should never have left!” she cried, shaking her head at her own foolishness.

“Good God, Belle, what…what happened?” he asked in fear, paws encasing her shoulders. She winced, a soft gasp of pain escaping her lips even with his gentle touch.

He pulled back quickly, eyes growing wide. A moment later he reached out again, untying her cloak and letting it fall away.

“Oh my God,” he breathed. Belle looked up, catching her own reflection in the mirror behind him. A bruise sat at the base of her throat, curling around one side and disappearing beneath the neckline of her dress. “Who’s done this to you?!” Adam cried.

Belle only shook her head. “I’m so sorry,” she repeated, letting her face fall into her hands.

“It was that man, my lord,” Gilles offered. “The one from the village.”

Adam didn’t even ask who Gilles meant; he must have known. “Oh, no…” he gasped. “Did he—”

“From what I could get out of her, it’s not what you’re thinking, my prince.”

Belle felt Adam’s hand reach for her own a moment later, his opposite arm wrapping around her waist but just barely brushing it as if she would shatter at his touch. “Call for Docteur Mathius,” he rasped, turning back towards the silent guards. “Immediately!”

“Yes, Your Highness!”

Belle felt herself being guided down the dark halls, entering the large main sitting room where the fire was already lit. The doctor arrived a moment later, along with Mrs. Potts atop Anne’s tray. Belle was grateful to see her, accepting a cup of chamomile tea in shaking hands. Adam sat beside her, looking more frantic than she’d ever seen him.

Mathius took a look at her injury, then turned to Adam. “My lord, there are some empty ice bags in my office drawers. We’ll need a couple of those filled with fresh snow, if you could—”

Adam was already on his feet, nodding earnestly and sprinting from the room.

“My dear, are you all right letting me see the rest of those bruises?”

Belle pursed her lips and nodded, undoing a couple buttons of her dress and pulling the sleeve off her shoulder. She glanced down, distinct finger-shaped spots rising from her collarbone and shoulder. Belle could suddenly taste the remnants of beer on her tongue, feel Gaston’s rough, cruel fingers holding her in place. A couple tears dripped down her cheeks, and she brushed them away quickly.

The door opened again, and Adam ran in with an armful of cloth ice bags. He nearly dropped them when he saw her, looking heartbroken. Belle stared quickly into her lap.

“Thank you, my prince,” the doctor went on. “Perhaps you can send for Sophie to help us?”

Adam bit his lip, but nodded and ducked his head as he started to move out of the room.

“It’s all right, Docteur,” Belle said quickly. “He can stay.” Even in her embarrassment and shame, she suddenly didn’t want Adam out of her sight.

He was beside her before Mathius could object, two of the cold cloth bags in one paw that he rested against her exposed shoulder while his other arm wrapped carefully around her. She shut her eyes, trying to forget what a fool she’d been to let this happen.

She couldn’t forget just yet, however. “Mademoiselle,” Mathius went on carefully. “If he did anything else to you, I must know. If you’re rather us leave so you can speak with Mrs. Potts alone—”

“It’s all right,” she said quickly, biting her lip. “He just…just pulled my hair. And held me in place while he…” She swallowed, throat swelling as new tears threatened to spill out. “W-while he…kissed me.” She couldn’t even look at Adam as she said it, letting her face fall in her hands once again.

He pulled her closer against him, even as his own arms trembled. “That bastard. I’ll kill him,” he growled.

“I know it could have been so much worse,” she went on, voice muffled between her fingers. “But that’s what was so awful…I didn’t know what he was going to do, and couldn’t do anything about it. I’ve never been more frightened in my whole _life._ I’d—I’d rather face the wolves again than him!” she cried.

“Oh, you brave girl,” Mrs. Potts said softly, pouring her a new cup of tea.

Belle took it—anything to wash out that horrible taste in her mouth. “Brave?” she asked, shaking her head. “I’m a _coward._ I couldn’t say anything. I could barely move. I—I couldn’t even turn him down when he asked me to _marry_ him,” she choked out.

“You were under duress,” Adam insisted.

“But I…I provoked him,” she admitted. “Called him out on everything he’s done, in front of all his friends! If I’d only held my tongue, he wouldn’t have been so angry.”

“I don’t care what you said to him,” he said fiercely. “He had no right to do this to you. You did nothing wrong, Belle, you understand?”

Trying to calm her shaky breath, Belle finally looked up at him.

“And nothing you agreed upon counts in such a situation,” Mrs. Potts added. “You said what you needed to in order to escape. And we are so very grateful you did, love.”

Adam nodded earnestly.

A bit of her shame melted away at that, and Belle relaxed. Adam wasn’t upset—he didn’t blame her, wasn’t disgusted by her. Why had she ever thought he would be?

“He’s going to find out I’m gone,” she realized a moment later. “He’s going to realize I lied to him about caring for Maman. He said he was coming to ‘claim my hand’ in the morning. That’s why I ran. But what if…what if he comes looking for me?” she asked in fresh fear.

“Let him come,” Adam snarled. “I’ll break all his bones and throw him in the tower until he rots.”

Belle sniffled, almost letting herself smile as she looked back up at him. “Adam…”

“I’m serious,” he said darkly.

Belle knew she shouldn’t let him talk like that, but she just felt so safe in his arms, so relieved he wasn’t ashamed of her, that she decided to let it slide. Suddenly the fact that she was here—that she was _home—_ washed over her like a warm wave. She should never have left.

“You were right,” she said quietly, leaning into him. “I should have listened to you. I should have never gone back.”

“I was worried about the enchantress, not this,” he said. “You should be able to walk through your own village without being _attacked,”_ he snarled, looking towards the dark window. “Damn it, if _I_ were in charge, men like him would be—”

“There’s no use thinking on that now,” Mrs. Potts chided. “Let’s let the girls get Belle into a warm bath and fresh linens, mm? I’ll bring up some supper, dear—you must be quite famished after such a hard ride.”

Belle nodded, feeling like she might cry again. Not from fear or shame this time, but from relief.

“Continue to ice those areas for the next day, mademoiselle,” Mathius directed. “The injuries are up high enough that we shouldn’t need to worry about organ damage, though they will take some time to heal. A week, I’d put it, considering you’re young. We’ll take another look tomorrow and see if we don’t need to send Henri to town for some comfrey and wine to aid the healing process.” He paused. “Have you had any pain in your throat?”

Belle swallowed; it did hurt a bit, now that she thought about it. “A little,” she admitted.

“Well, let’s try to keep the speaking to a minimum, when you can,” he directed.

She pursed her lips, and nodded again.

As the doctor left, Belle looked back over at Adam, frowning. “What about tomorrow?” she breathed, trying not to use her voice too much.

“Don’t worry about that,” Adam said. “You should rest for the next few days. We can do it later.”

Belle nodded. She really wasn’t hurt _that_ badly, but she felt absolutely shaken to the core. And the thought of dressing up for a special dinner with those ugly bruises along her neck just made her feel worse.

“Sorry,” she whispered again, letting him help her to her feet.

“No more apologies,” Adam said seriously. “The only one who’s going to be apologizing to me is Gaston when I string him up by his ankles over the west balcony.”

* * *

“Oh, that poor girl!” Anne exclaimed. “That man sounds like a monster.”

“Most certainly,” Mrs. Potts agreed, riding atop the woman’s cart as they made their way back from the kitchens with a steaming tray of supper for Belle. As they rounded the corner of the main hall, she caught sight of their prince at the doors, securing a deep red cloak around his shoulders, a long, ornate blade hanging from his hip.

“Prince Adam?” she asked in shock. “It’s past midnight! Where on earth are you going?”

“To kill a man,” he growled.

“I’m helping,” Sire Gilles added from his hip.

Mrs. Potts raised a painted brow. “…Aren’t you forgetting something, dear?”

The prince paused, looking back down the corridor in confusion. “I don’t think—” He stopped suddenly, frowning. “Mrs. Potts, don’t try to stop me,” he said decidedly, pushing open the heavy door and stepping into the cold night air.

Mrs. Potts sighed, and it was but a minute later that she caught several very un-prince-like words echoing from the courtyard before Adam’s heavy steps stomped back up the stairs and into the hall.

“Remembered you can’t leave, love?” she asked, trying to hide the mirth in her voice.

“Yes,” he grumbled, looking away. “We weren’t…we weren’t really going to _kill_ him,” he muttered.

 _“Hmph._ Speak for yourself,” Gilles huffed.

“Maybe just…tear his arms off so he can never touch Belle again,” Adam said darkly.

“Oh heavens, I don’t want to hear it!” Mrs. Potts exclaimed.

The prince only frowned, looking towards the West Wing, his expression growing somber. “Belle’s so strong, and brave,” he said, almost to himself. “And that man made her feel weak, and afraid. Ashamed, even.” He stopped, looking crestfallen. “She should _never_ have to feel that.”

They were quiet for a long moment, the nighttime winds rattling the doors behind them.

“Mrs. Potts?” Adam asked a moment later. “…Why did God make men stronger than women?”

She blinked, surprised by the question. In truth, it was one she’d asked herself in the past.

“Brute strength, I mean,” he clarified. “It’s just, I always…I always thought we were meant to use it to protect. But it seems more of us use it to hurt, to abuse. Gaston, my uncle, his men…” He stopped, staring absently at the ground. “If that’s what’s going to happen, I’d rather not be strong at all.”

Mrs. Potts’ expression softened. “I don’t know the answer, dear,” she admitted. “But I do believe those who misuse their power will get their due ends, whether in this life or the next.”

Adam’s frown deepened. “I’d prefer they get it sooner rather than later.”

Mrs. Potts sighed, wishing she could hug the boy. She’d certainly grown quite fond of him all these years. “How about you bring Belle her supper?” she suggested. “She should be settled into her room by now. I’m sure she’d appreciate your company.”

Adam looked back at her, as if coming to himself, and nodded. He released Gilles from his hip, tugging off his cloak and dropping it to the floor before grabbing the tray and heading quickly towards the West Wing.

“Well, I have to say,” Gilles said once Adam was out of sight. “I certainly never thought so deeply about such things at his age.”

Mrs. Potts chuckled. “I daresay few of us did.”

“His father was a truly great ruler,” Gilles went on. “The best I’ve known. But I must admit…I do believe our prince would have been even greater.”

“With any luck, he’ll still have the chance,” Mrs. Potts smiled.

“I certainly hope so.”

* * *

The doors to the tavern flew open, an enormous presence filling the threshold.

“You’re all invited to my wedding!” Gaston boomed over the chatter of drunken voices. “Another round on me!”

A chorus of cheers greeted him, and he stomped into the room, his loyal toadies surrounding him, slapping his solid shoulders and passing him several drinks. A few girls broke into sobs, though the triplets were noticeably absent.

“Who’s the lucky girl, Gaston?” a squat man asked.

Gaston gulped down an entire mug of ale, wiped his mouth on his sleeve, and grinned. “Belle, of course! We’ll be married tomorrow,” he declared proudly.

The room fell quiet at that, a few murmurs replacing the cheers from before. Gaston frowned; they should be congratulating him all the more. What was wrong with these people?

“Gaston,” someone asked. “Won’t you be waiting for the Duponts to return before holding the ceremony?”

“…Return?” he asked in confusion.

“They’re…they’re still in Paris, aren’t they?” the short man from before asked, scratching his head nervously. “We thought you would have known…they’ve been gone for months…”

Gaston blinked, embarrassment flooding over him for the second time that night. It was all he could do not to throw the mug in his hand to the ground in anger. Instead, he sucked in a breath, forcing a grin across his face. “Ha! Of course I knew!” he declared. “Belle’s my girl—why wouldn’t I know that?”

The people around started to relax, nodding in encouragement.

“I was—I was only kidding about tomorrow. I’m just so excited, I forgot myself!” he lied, feigning sheepishness.

The crowd around laughed heartily, cheering once again and offering him the congratulations he deserved. Even so, Gaston found little enjoyment in the celebration, the liquor sour on his tongue as he slowly processed this new information.

An hour later, it finally clicked.

If Madame Dupont was in Paris, then that meant Belle and her father had found the money to get her there. Which meant someone had given it to them. _He_ was supposed to do that—once Belle agreed to marry him, of course. No wonder she’d continued to refuse him.

And not only that—but they’d been gone for months without his knowledge. Gaston, of course, didn’t acknowledge his own fault in this, instead assuming Belle would always be right where he wanted her. Yet by simply inquiring after her, or paying attention to anything besides the words from his own mouth, he could have easily heard the news weeks ago.

But no; Gaston was never at fault. This was Belle’s doing. She’d kept the truth from him; she’d _lied_ to him.

 _No one_ lied to Gaston.

He growled, standing from the counter and pushing his way through the crowds. They were so intoxicated by now, few noticed him leave.

 _Who does she think she is?_ he thought, fuming as he stormed through the snowy streets. _That girl has tangled with the wrong man._

It didn’t take him long to reach the hill to her tiny house. He stomped up the freshly shoveled path, up the stone steps to her porch. He raised a fist, and pounded three times.

“Belle!” he shouted. “Let me in!”

Silence.

He grit his teeth, pounding a dozen more times before pulling back and folding his arms. “I know you’re there! Open up!”

Nothing.

Trembling in anger, he stepped back, lifted his foot, and kicked the handle with all his might. It creaked, but held. He wrinkled his nose, and repeated the process twice more before the heavy door finally flew open. Moonlight spilled across the empty floors, a few dying embers glowing in the hearth. Something had fallen to the floor at his feet. A strange contraption—probably one of Maurice’s old, ridiculous inventions.

Gaston stepped on it as he crossed the threshold, the device cracking beneath the weight of his boot. He looked around the empty space and frowned, confused. Where was their furniture, their belongings? Surely Belle wasn’t _that_ poor.

 _How pathetic,_ he thought. Why in the world wouldn’t she accept him? She’d be the richest woman in town.

“Belle!” he demanded, sweeping through the home, checking the small bedroom, climbing the ladder to the loft. But the house was not only completely bare, but entirely unoccupied.

“Damn wench,” he growled, stomping back out the door, not even bothering to shut it behind him. He scowled, plopping down on the front porch and resting his large chin in his hands. He thought back over the night, recalling that book full of drawings—drawings of trees, and teacups, and a hideous beast—

His eyes grew wide. He’d seen that creature before, hadn’t he?

_“It was a beast, Father!” Gaston cried. “A horrible, monstrous beast!”_

_Monsieur LeGume only laughed at his son. “There’s no such thing.”_

_“But I saw it,” the young man insisted. “I swear! He was enormous! I'd say at least eight, no…more like ten feet!”_

_His father huffed. “And I suppose you also weren’t drinking before this excursion of yours.”_

_Gaston growled. If only he’d managed to kill that monster, he could have proved it. Suddenly, he had an idea. “We can go together,” he suggested. “Take a crew of men to the Northern Woods, lay a trap the beast can’t possibly escape—”_

_“The Northern Woods?” he father asked, growing angry. “Those woods are forbidden! Don’t you dare tell me you went there.”_

_“It doesn’t matter, Father,” Gaston huffed, crossing his arms and leaning back in his seat. “No one guards the place anymore. And if I could just catch that beast, I’d be known as the greatest hunter in—”_

_“Don’t be a fool,” he father said, cutting him off. “The king’s orders are not to be ignored. He’s only just appointed our family_ noblesse de cloche _—I will not have you going off and ruining our new position for some reckless hunting trophy.”_

_“But—”_

_“Enough. If I hear of you venturing out there again, you can say goodbye to your monthly allowance.”_

That had been enough to dissuade him; Gaston was not one to live the life of a beggar. So he’d forgotten the creature, focusing on ridding the surrounding woods of lesser beasts. Now, though—now he could no longer ignore the creature’s existence. Had Belle encountered the beast as well? He huffed, frowning in confusion. It made no sense.

The thought of her distracted him again, however. The way she’d looked in the dark alleyway—eyes wide, full of fear, not unlike a rabbit caught in one of his snares. He smirked, in spite of himself. She might have escaped him again and again, but he’d managed to trap her then. And that look on her face made it all worth it. A look of submission, of powerlessness. The way a woman _should_ look in his arms.

He licked his lips. Who cared if she was more trouble that she was worth—the victory would more than make up for it. _I’ll have Belle for my wife,_ he thought darkly. _Make no mistake about that._

“Oh, my,” someone said. “You will do quite nicely, won’t you?”

Gaston stopped, cocking his head and looking towards the sound of the voice. A woman emerged from the shadows, pulling back her hood. Long, white-gold hair fell free, trailing to her waist, bright red eyes looking down at him.

“Who are you?” Gaston asked, standing quickly.

“Just a humble traveler,” she said deeply. She came closer, and Gaston caught sight of her figure in the moonlight. He hummed in pleasure—perhaps such a woman was just what he needed to distract himself tonight.

“Yes…quite nicely,” she said, seeming to size him up before pulling something from behind her ear. A rose.

Gaston felt his eyes growing heavy.

* * *

The enchantress watched the man’s eyes droop beneath her spell, his pupils growing large. She grinned, looking him over. He was enormous—probably the largest man she’d ever laid eyes on. And soon, he would be hers.

She led him into the house behind them. The inside was empty. _Perfect, no witnesses to take care of,_ the witch thought. She didn’t like it when things got messy.

“You are the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen,” he said from behind her.

“Yes, yes, I know—” She stopped, frowning when she looked back at him. The man was staring into a dim mirror against the wall, unabashedly admiring himself.

She raised a brow. Strange—she’d never seen the rose’s spell work in such a way before. Rolling her eyes, she snapped her fingers at him. He looked back, the lust in his eyes refocusing on herself, as it should. She sighed, tugging him close, pulling him down towards the kiss that would convert all that brute strength into a store of magic she could use for herself.

“Gee,” he said, just before their lips met. “You’re pretty. Almost as pretty as my girl Belle.”

Eyes growing wide, the enchantress pulled away. “…What did you say?” she asked, irritable but equally curious. Could this man be speaking of _that_ Belle?

“Belle’s the most beautiful girl in the village,” the man declared in an almost drunken tone. He raised a finger, like a scholar explaining a complicated theory to his students. “That makes her the _best.”_

Frowning deeper, the witch let the rose close up in an instant. The man blinked for a long moment, before his pupils constricted back to their normal size.

“Mmm, you’re still here,” he drawled, looking her over with hungry eyes. Frankly, he didn’t act too much different with or without the spell, it seemed.

“Yes,” she said impatiently, turning towards the mirror the man had been admiring himself in before. She pressed a finger to its surface, letting the reflection dissolve into an image of the one woman she couldn’t wait to be rid of. The girl sat in a grand bed, holding something against her shoulder and running her fingers through the large mutt’s fur who sat nestled at her side.

“Hey,” the man said, furrowing his large brows and pulling the mirror off the wall with both hands. He looked behind it, found nothing, then stared back at its surface. “What’s Belle doing in _here?”_ he asked in confusion, shaking the mirror violently as though the action would dump the girl back on the floor.

The enchantress rolled her eyes again. “She’s not inside it, you imbecile.”

He stopped, frowning deeply and looking back at her. “I don’t know what that means.”

“It means idiot, idiot.”

“Hey!” he barked, making a fist and towering over her. “Nobody calls Gaston an— _ooow!”_ he cried as she snatched his wrist in her fingers. She grew several feet in a matter of seconds, and the man’s eyes grew to the size of saucers. He dropped the mirror in surprise, and it shattered across the bare floors.

The witch frowned, squeezing with the strength of ten men. She made it eleven, and he whimpered in her hold, falling to his knees.

“Listen, you pathetic man,” she spat, casting a hand towards the mirror and letting her magic restore the broken pieces. “You want that girl back, don’t you?”

He looked back as the image of Belle resurfaced. He nodded, eyes filling with tears at the pain.

She loosened her grip a bit, leaning down and brushing the sharp nails of her opposite hand across the man’s thick jaw. He was attractive, yes, but nowhere _near_ as handsome as her Beast would be once he was hers. “Then listen to me,” she said, letting her voice grow soft. “She’s been placed under a powerful spell—one by a great Beast of the forest. He keeps her coming back to his castle, hidden deep in the Northern Woods,” she explained, weaving the lie as she pointed towards the mirror once again. The Beast was there now, sitting on the edge of the bed and brushing the woman’s hair from her face. She reached for his paw.

Gaston watched with increasing fury, nose wrinkling in disgust. “It’s _him,”_ he snarled, eyes blazing. “That monster!”

“Oh?” the witch asked with intrigue. “You’ve met this Beast?”

“I knew it!” Gaston fumed. “I knew I didn’t imagine the creature. He’s taken my Belle! No—no wonder she won’t have me!”

 _“Exactly,”_ the enchantress said, feeding the man’s rage. “Now, you do exactly as I say, and you’ll have her back.”

The man raised his brows, but listened intently as she gave him his simple instructions. He wasn’t bright enough for much else, it seemed.

“You understand?” she asked at last.

The man narrowed his eyes for a moment, then grinned. “Yeah. I get it.”

The witch nodded, moving towards the door. At the threshold she paused, however, turning back to him. “Just remember,” she added, pulling on her hood. “The Beast is _mine.”_

* * *

Belle opened her eyes. It was still night, the wind having picked up in the past hours, rattling the bedroom’s large windows.

She shivered—the cloth bags filled with snow had since melted, but bits of water now clung to her skin where they had rested, leaving her chilled to the bone. She pulled them off, setting them aside and sitting up further against the pillows propped around her. She smiled a bit, recalling Adam bringing a half dozen of them in and tucking them around her himself.

 _“Mathius told me you should elevate the injury,”_ he’d insisted. And while he’d been more than attentive, she still noticed an absent look about him, his eyes narrowing as he gazed towards the covered windows. She knew Adam was thinking about Gaston in those moments, his blue eyes growing darker than she’d ever seen them.

“Thought you could run away from me, did you?”

Belle froze, every muscle in her body growing stiff as the voice echoed in the room. Gaston’s voice. But that wasn’t possible—it couldn’t be possible! Belle remained still, unblinking, unbreathing, hoping it was only a terrible figment of her imagination.

A dark figure emerged from the curtains and stood at the side of her bed.

She tried to scream, but her voice was too hoarse to make a sound. Gaston’s monstrous form threw back the blankets, kneeling over her, holding her against the mattress by her wrists. She mustered every ounce of strength to fight against him, but he only held on tighter. His cruel smile shown through the darkness, coming closer and closer until—

A faint cry rang in her ears. Her own cry. Belle blinked; Gaston was gone, she was safely tucked in the sheets, the wet snow packs still sitting against her shoulder as though she’d never pulled them away.

 _A nightmare,_ she realized, trembling head to toe. She looked around the room, the shadowed curtains looking much like a man standing in the shadows and watching her. She knew it couldn’t be, but found herself frozen in fear again, just like in her dream. She wished she could light the candles, but even moving away from the safety of the bed seemed a suddenly impossible task.

She flinched as something scratched against the floor, but soon realized it was only Max coming over in response to her cry. She let him on the bed, burying her face against his fur.

Frowning, she sucked in a breath. Why was she letting Gaston hold so much power over her?

With a burst of courage, she managed to light the candle beside the bed with trembling fingers. Crawling to the end of the mattress, she held it out, letting the soft glow fall over the room. No feet stuck out from beneath the curtains, no strange shapes poked out from the corners or from behind the rich furnishings. She sighed, though the fear lingered in her chest.

She looked towards the bookshelf across the room, thinking about the man on the other side of its hidden passage. She shook her head. So foolish—how could she think to bother Adam about something like this, and in the middle of the night?

Still…the idea only grew in her mind after she lay back down, and she finally huffed, grabbing the candle once again and pulling on a robe as she moved quickly across the dark room. She reached the bookshelf, sucked in a breath, and pulled the trick lever. She could have just gone into the hall and knocked on his door, but she was suddenly embarrassed at what the guards down the hall would think of her. This seemed…safer, somehow.

She heard the lock click, and the shelves loosen in place. Sliding them aside, she reached for the door, which she’d opted to leave unlocked, pulling it open and stepping into the dark passage. She was at the other side in a moment, hand hesitating over the handle. She bit her lip, wondering if this was such a good idea after all.

Before she could change her mind, she heard something slide away on the other side, and the door was quickly pulled open by its owner.

“Belle,” Adam breathed, looking down at her.

She blinked, staring up at his form framed by the firelight behind him. “Adam, I… How did you know I was here?”

“I heard you opening the other side,” he explained. “Are you all right?”

She nodded. “I just…I had a dream,” she admitted, voice more hoarse than she’d expected it to be. “Well, a nightmare, really.” She sighed, embarrassed, suddenly feeling extremely childish. “I’m sorry for waking you.”

“I’m a light sleeper,” he said, shaking his head. His hand found hers in the darkness. “Did you want to talk about it?” He stopped, grimacing. “Oh, but your voice…”

She thought back to the dream, and shuddered. “I’d rather not, anyway,” she whispered. “I just…” She frowned, biting her lip. Why had she come, then?

They were quiet for a long moment. “Um,” Adam started, looking around her towards her room. “Would you like me to—”

“Yes,” she said quickly, moving aside so he could follow her back. He did, keeping a hand around hers as he held the opposite door open for her. Oh, but he was gentle. It seemed even more obvious now after the incident with Gaston.

Guiding her back to bed, he then turned and swept through the room, checking each hidden shadow. Belle wasn’t sure if he was truly worried about intruders, or if he only sensed it would help her feel better, but she relaxed all the same.

“I’ll be right back,” he promised a moment later, picking up the cloth sacks of melted snow and moving back through the passage to his room. Not a minute later he returned, shutting the small door behind him. He paused for a long moment, then pulled the bookcase closed as well before moving back beside her. The bags were cold again—he must have refilled them with snow from his balcony.

Sitting on the edge of her bed, Adam reached towards the neckline of her chemise. He paused, eyes meeting hers in a silent request for permission. She nodded, loosening her robe and feeling gentle fingers brush aside her sleeve, the cold cloth against her skin a second later. Though it felt good against the bruises themselves, it left the rest of her freezing. She shivered.

Adam shirked off his own robe, and moved closer, wrapping his opposite arm around her and pulling her against him. The small patch of cold between them now fought against his great warmth. Belle closed her eyes.

“Don’t go,” she breathed, bringing her hands to his soft chest and resting her head against him.

To her surprise, he didn’t hesitate. “I won’t.”

He looked down, met her eyes, then reached back for her comforter. Belle lied down as he pulled it over them, curling up against him as he settled down himself. She felt his knees tuck up beneath her, his paw still holding the snow-cold cloth against her skin as his other arm draped over her side. He reached up, thumb brushing her cheek and tucking a strand of hair behind her ear before cradling the back of her head. Belle closed her eyes once again.

Adam whispered something in the darkness, but she was too far gone to hear it. Her sleep was deep, and she dreamed only of a man with light auburn hair holding her close. But she wasn’t afraid—somehow, she knew exactly who he was.


	18. Chapter 17

_A ladybug crawled slowly along the child’s pinky nail, seeming perfectly at ease while two wide eyes stared, unfocused, in wonder._

_“Circe!”_

_The insect’s legs tickled the girl’s skin, and she smiled. Her eyes were a pale green, hidden beneath a milky surface that was so dense the color was nearly indistinct from the surrounding white of the eye. The girl tugged absently at her matted blond hair, pulled back with a bit of string in haste that morning by the child’s mother before she tended to the other seven children. The day was warm, the palace gardens bursting with life as trees fresh with young leaves and rows of flowers opened to their full summer bloom. The girl, however, found much more enjoyment in the pleasant smells she could bring close to her nose, or the little details she could feel on the tip of one finger._

_“Circe, where are you?!”_

_The child finally heard the call, looking up quickly as a man in heavy boots moved towards her. The ladybug flew off with the motion, and Circe frowned._

_“Good lord, child, how many times do I gotta tell you not to run off?”_

_“Sorry, Papa.”_

_He sighed. “It’s bad enough you can’t see me from three paces away, Circe. What’ll happen if I can’t see **you?”**_

_She shrugged._

_“Come on, I could use your help with the rose bushes.”_

_She nodded obediently, reaching out for the edge of her father’s loose shirt and following his solid form through the winding paths to the long rows of roses that lined the castle’s open courtyard. She breathed in deeply; it smelled wonderful here._

_“There,” he said. She felt a thin sack being pressed into her hands. “Start gathering those trimmings. I’ll be finishing up on ahead. Think you can manage this, at least?”_

_Circe nodded again, crouching low and feeling for the dead foliage her father had left along the path. The thorns cut her skin, but she didn’t mind—it was worth the work just to smell the sweet, lingering scent of the roses, to feel the occasional soft petal beneath her fingertips that had fallen from the plants._

_Still, it was too much being so close to the bushes themselves, and she stopped after some time to admire one more closely. Squatting low, she leaned close to the nearest plant, fingers brushing carefully up its stems and over the flowers in bloom. She stopped at one point, feeling a young flower near its base. It was smaller than the others, and as far as she could tell, didn’t quite fit with the shape of the bush._

Papa must have missed this one, _she decided. Though in her heart, she knew she was seeking any excuse to pluck a rose of her own._

_It was all she’d ever wanted, after all._

_Biting her lip, Circe hesitated, looking to the right, then the left, seeing nothing but the fuzzy greens and reds of the garden. In a second, the rose was torn from its stem. She held it carefully between her fingers, bringing it to her nose and breathing in its sweet scent. She pulled it away a moment later, smiling at the infant flower before standing and tucking it into the pocket of her apron._

_“You little thief.”_

_Circe gasped, looking around and seeing a shape of deep purple standing on the path. Who was it?_

_“You think those roses are free for the taking?” the voice continued angrily. It belonged to a boy, perhaps a year or so older than her._ The prince! _Circe realized, falling to her knees in horror._

_“I’m sorry,” she whispered, unable to say anything in her defense. He must have seen her tuck the flower into her pocket—and even the garden trimmings were prohibited for the taking._

_“Apologies aren’t good enough, peasant,” the boy snarled._

_“What are you doing, Alexandre?” a gruff voice called out. Circe bit her trembling lip as another large figure approached. Only one man could address the prince in such a way—and that was the king himself._

_“She stole one of mother’s roses,” the prince said fiercely. Circe didn’t dare look up, but she could imagine a sharp, accusatory finger pointing down at her._

_“They’re just flowers, foolish boy,” the king said harshly. “And I’m certain your dead mother doesn’t care about such things anymore.”_

_At that, the prince remained silent._

_“However,” the king went on. “Fingers that steal roses can just as easily take gold.” He paused. “Who do you belong to?” he asked her._

_Circe looked up slowly, body quaking, unable to respond in her fear._

_“M-me, Your Emminence,” a deep voice gasped, kneeling beside her. “She’s my daughter.”_

_“Hmm. An odd looking thing, isn’t she? Those eyes…” the king mused. He snapped his fingers, and Circe flinched, but only heard another set of footsteps approach. “Release the man of his duties, and find a replacement immediately,” the king ordered, turning on his heel and leaving the scene as quickly as he’d come._

_“Serves you right,” the prince sneered, following in his father’s wake._

_Circe felt the tears before they came, looking over nervously. “P-Papa,” she gasped. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…”_

_He was still on his knees, staring absently in the dirt. He was being too quiet for her to know if he was sad or angry, and she couldn’t make out his expression._

_“If we starve,” he managed at last, turning towards her, “it’ll be your doing, girl.”_

* * *

_“Cursed child—that’s what they told me,” her father huffed, stomping through the path up ahead of her. “You might be half useless, but I never put much stalk in superstitions. But…maybe I shoulda listened to ‘em.” He stopped in his tracks, turning towards the quiet forests around them._

_Circe wrung her hands together, tears staining her cheeks. She brought one corner of her dirty apron to her face to dry them off._

_“Circe,” he said suddenly._

_“Y-yes, Papa?”_

_He was silent for a long, still moment. “Think you can find some willow roots for supper?” he asked quietly._

_She brightened, anxious to help fix what she’d broken. “Yes! Yes Papa, I can,” she agreed, running off into the woods._

_Behind her, the father watched his child go. “Got enough mouths to feed without you,” he muttered under his breath. He continued down the trail alone._

* * *

_“Papa?”_

_Circe wandered back towards the trail, hands covered in dirt to her wrists, apron filled with roots. She’d felt fortunate to find them—much here looked the same to her, but the artic willow’s low, prickly stems made it easy to recognize._

_“Papa, I found them!”_

_The forest responded with silence, but for the distant chirping of robins. It was starting to grow dark, and Circe felt her heart slowly rising into her throat. Had she gone the wrong way? No…no Papa always made sure she didn’t wander too far. She couldn’t see him, but he could always see her._

_“Papa!” she shouted, gripping the corners of her apron tighter and dashing towards the trail. Or, at least, where she thought the trail had been. “Papa, where are you?”_

_She ran hard, tripping a dozen times over some unseen growth, meeting tall, looming pines in her path another dozen more, growing more disoriented and panicked by the minute. It felt like she’d been running for miles, but no path appeared beneath her feet._

“Cursed child—that’s what they told me. Maybe I shoulda listened to ‘em.”

_She remembered his words, chest growing cold as ice. Her grip on her apron loosened, the roots tumbling to the forest floor._

_“Papa, please,” she choked out, taking a few more steps despite the quaking in her legs. “I-I’ll be better, I promise!”_

_The sun dipped beneath the horizon, coating the forest in cold and darkness._

_“P-please come back,” she whispered, fresh tears pooling in her eyes._

_No one came._

_She reached into her pocket and pulled the little rose from its hiding place, holding it up in trembling fingers. Grinding her teeth, Circe crushed it in her palms, ignoring the sharp thorns that cut her skin. Falling to her knees, she pressed the ruined flower into the dirt, curled up where she sat, and cried until she had no strength left._

_And as sobs gave into sleep, the earth beside her began to glow._

* * *

The witch woke with a start. Her cheeks were wet.

Cursing, she brushed them on her sleeve, staring furiously into the darkness. She’d been dreaming of that girl more and more often, and she hated it. Yet no spell she’d come up with could rid her of the memories. That child was weak, and helpless. Someone else. She could never go back to being so utterly _worthless._

_“Worth is not gained, Circe. It is inherent.”_

She cursed again, hands flying to her ears as if that would stop the memory of her master’s words. That name, ugh! How she loathed it. Her dim-witted, peasant mother had thought it a pretty name, not realizing its terrible irony. That Circe was an ancient sorceress. A temptress, who changed men to beasts. That this daughter with the cloudy, unseeing eyes would be mocked as a thing of misfortune and bad luck by foolish, superstitious people.

That even once the blindness was taken from her, her features free to change at will, that she would become everything the name implied, the very curse those fools had predicted.

She stood, moving towards the grand vanity of the room, lighting the candle with the flick of one hand. An ugly form stared back at her—cheeks hollow, lips cracked, skin grey and lifeless. Her eyes, no longer pale and empty, stared back at her, redder than the roses that grew outside these very walls. She sucked in a quick breath, and immediately her hair grew voluminous, cheeks flush with color, face sculpted to her will.

The enchantress sighed in relief, staring at her revived beauty. Her true form was growing more hideous with each passing day, and she feared one morning she might wake up and not be able to undo it. Even now, however, her eyes remained that same unnatural red that grew more vibrant with every victim she took. 

She touched the skin just below them, willing those eyes to change. To brown, to grey, to the green they had once been—anything else but this color that so obviously gave her away. But nothing happened.

She sighed in tired frustration. Another area of her training that remained unfulfilled. Why couldn’t her magic change this?

 _“The eyes tell all. You cannot hide what you are becoming,”_ her master had said sternly, disappointment raging in the older woman’s own deep brown orbs. _“Dark magic always bears a mark, Circe. You **must** stop this, or it will consume you.”_

The witch frowned. Even her little prince’s eyes had remained that same, irritating blue, unaffected by her spell. Well, so she couldn’t change eyes. It didn’t matter. Before year’s end, she’d have what she wanted.

She stood, brushing her fingers across her chemise, the fabric dissolving into a sparkling red gown, a thick cloak unfolding over her shoulders. Pulling on the hood, she heading towards the door, moving quickly into the depths of her fortress. Fog drifted into the corridor from the walls, holes torn through them by canons and worn down by the elements long ago. With the mist came a powerful scent—a beautiful, enticing one, floating in from the thousands of roses that grew up the outer walls.

Guards spotted the halls, their stares blank—that is, until she approached. Then each watched her with hungry eyes, the roses in their vests blooming with life.

“As you were,” she told them. They stiffened, pulling spears to shoulders and resuming their former stances. She had dozens of them here, guarding these walls. Guarding a hundred more men imprisoned in the old, rotting dungeons below. That was where she went now. A kiss from each one, just a few more recruits—and she’d have enough power to meet her Beast.

_“You’re twisting everything I’ve taught you! Our magic relies on love, Circe, not lust!”_

The witch scoffed. Love, lust. There was no difference. Her master was just jealous she’d found a better, _easier_ way to gain power.

Still…it seemed to be taking more men than it used to revive that strength these days.

She cursed under her breath. This had grown much more tiresome than she’d hoped. _It should have been so simple!_ she thought irritably. Let the boy fall into despair, let him grow more and more desperate as the years passed, as all hope of breaking the curse washed away. Then, just when he’d nearly given up hope, turn up on his doorstep in a beautiful body. He’d have fallen for her in a heartbeat—and if not, one enchanted rose would have made him hers.

Now, though, it wouldn’t be so simple. She wouldn’t embarrass herself by trying that rose trick again. He clearly loved that peasant girl. _Curse her beauty,_ she snarled, stopping before one of the grand mirrors lining these halls. She let her form change then, into one she’d stolen weeks ago. But for her eyes, it was a perfect resemblance.

She smiled in satisfaction. Men were heartless, fickle fools—and no peasant girl, no matter how lovely, stood a chance against what she could offer.

But just in case…

She touched the glass before her. It dissolved into an image of a man, sitting at the edge of his bed, staring absently at the ground as a single candle burned against the darkness. A worn, wide-brimmed hat hung from the bedpost, old boots abandoned on the floor. The man held a feminine, golden band, rubbing it gently between his fingers.

“Monsieur Dupont,” she breathed aloud. “This really is your fault, isn’t it? Wandering into places you should never had been, taking gifts that never belonged to you.”

Maurice, of course, couldn’t hear her. He tucked his wife’s wedding band into his pocket and let his face fall into his hands.

The witch narrowed her eyes, letting the image begin to fade. “Yes, this is your doing. And you best hope your great benefactor is willing to be generous to you once again.”

* * *

“I love you.”

The words had barely escaped his lips before dying in the quiet air.

He’d said it.

Of course, Adam had known Belle wouldn’t hear him, her breathing already slowing to the quiet rhythm of sleep as the words escaped him. Though at the same time…part of him sort of hoped she had.

 _Coward,_ he told himself, now waking to the soft light of early morning. He knew the words didn’t count unless she heard them, and he heard hers in response. Count towards breaking the curse, anyway. The thought sent his heart racing, and he was suddenly acutely aware of the warm presence against him.

He looked down. Belle slept on, hands curled into loose fists against him, lips barely parted, hair splayed out in all directions against the sheets. Adam had to fight a grin, deciding he’d never seen anything more adorable in his life.

He let himself watch her for several long minutes, trying to calm his breathing so the rising of his chest didn’t wake her. Soon, however, he heard the stirring of servants elsewhere in the castle, and realized he should probably leave before he was discovered here. Though surely no one would think anything like…like _that_ had happened. Not with what she’d just gone through the night before…not with what he was.

_“How disgusting!”_

Adam frowned, the witch’s terrible cackle ringing in his ears. Mocking him, degrading him. He knew she was just trying to get between him and Belle, that nothing the enchantress said could be trusted.

Then why did her words still bother him?

He huffed quietly, trying to untangle himself from the sheets without waking Belle. Yet a moment later, the sharp sound of cloth ripping rang harshly in his ears. Adam froze, curling his toes back, having just torn a hole in the sheets. He swore under his breath.

He heard a quiet chuckle, looking back to see Belle’s eyes now open and watching him.

He felt some of the blood leave his face. “S-sorry. I don’t, um…do sheets well,” he admitted in embarrassment.

“It’s okay. Though perhaps you should sleep with your feet _outside_ the covers next time,” she smiled.

Adam had to hide his surprise. _Next time?_ he wondered.

Something shook the bed then, and Max was soon wrestling his way in between them. Adam smiled again, ruffling the fur atop the dog’s head. Then he got an idea, sitting up and pulling back the covers.

“Max! Look what you’ve done,” he said, revealing the tear in the sheets and shaking his head in mock disappointment. The dog only cocked his head.

“Oh no!” Belle cried, hugging the mutt close. Max panted happily at the attention. “Unfair! He can’t even defend himself.”

“Precisely.”

She tried to look stern, but just wound up laughing. “You’re terrible.”

Adam grinned, but stopped when Belle began to cough. “Are you all right?” he asked in concern.

She waved it off. “Just my throat,” she managed.

Adam frowned, recalling the night before in an instant. His eyes fell over the bruises along her throat, which looked even worse in the light of morning. His heart fell into his stomach at the sight of it. “How are you feeling?” he asked quietly.

She looked down, realizing her shoulder was still exposed and quickly pulling her sleeve up. “I’m okay,” she said, tugging her loose robe tighter around her and tucking a bit of mussed hair behind one ear.

A mix of anger and regret filled Adam’s chest, suddenly fresh once again as he thought of what Gaston had done to her. He reached for her hand. “It’ll never happen again,” he promised.

A faint, almost relieved smile crossed her face, and she seemed to breathe a bit easier. Adam pulled back, tugging on his own robe and grabbing the old ice bags as he stood. Opening one of the windows, he refilled them with fresh snow from the roof before turning back to help Belle resettle.

“It’s still early. You should try to get some more sleep,” he went on, pulling the blankets back over her. He desperately wanted to stay, but knew it was more important to protect Belle’s reputation. For as much as he cared for those who lived here, he knew even the best of servants was prone to gossip.

“Okay,” she whispered, nestling back down beneath the covers. Max curled up against her feet. “Bye,” she breathed, lids already drooping.

“Bye,” he said softly, moving back to the hidden entrance and pulling back the bookshelf. He paused with his paw on the door handle, waiting a long moment as her breathing deepened. Then, so quietly only his own ears could hear them, he whispered those three words once again before heading into the dark passage.

* * *

Not an hour later, Adam stood in the armory, gazing up at the rows of swords, muskets, and an assortment of other weapons lining the walls. Like many gentle and well-tempered men, it took a great offense to bring him to anger. Yesterday, that requirement was met and more. Being with Belle, he managed to remain calm, his focus directed at her comfort. Yet alone, he found it nearly impossible to tame the fury in his chest.

Imagining all the ways he could punish Gaston seemed to help a little; he’d come up with a good fourteen already. That enormous flail in the corner was looking particularly tempting. _Fifteen,_ he thought, imagining lobbing one of those spiked metal heads straight into Gaston’s—

“My lord.”

Adam turned around. He’d been so lost in thought he hadn’t even heard Henri approach. _I need to stay more alert,_ he realized.

Henri bowed deeply, then straightened. “My lord,” he repeated. “I heard what happened. You need me to bring this fellow in? I’ll give him a good beating first too,” the man smirked, pounding one fist against the other.

Adam’s eyes grew bright. _“Yeah,”_ he agreed, starting to grin. “Then we scalp him.”

“May I have the honor, my prince?”

Adam started, realizing that blade near the door had been Sire Gilles this whole time. You’d think after ten years he’d be used to this. “Sire Gilles, I didn’t…what are you doing here?”

“I assume the same as you, my lord,” he said vaguely.

_Ah._

“I’ll needa description of the offender,” Henri went on.

Adam frowned as he turned back to him, but nodded. He tugged the enchanted mirror from his belt. “Show us that bastard,” he said begrudgingly.

To Adam’s dark amusement, it seemed to know what he meant and glowed green in response. He handed it quickly to Henri, not sure he could handle seeing Gaston’s face. He might be tempted to punch through the glass. Instead, he crossed his arms and looked away.

“Woah!” Henri cried as the mirror responded, and Adam realized belatedly that the man had never seen the object in action before.

“It’s just magic,” he explained quickly.

Henri laughed nervously. “Just magic. ‘Course it is.” A moment later, he seemed to pale. “Oh, uh…wow. He’s even bigger than me.”

Adam frowned, taking the mirror back from him and forcing himself to look at the image. An enormous man sat at a table, shoveling down what couldn’t have been less than five dozen scrambled eggs. He had sleek black hair, a deep cleft in his chin, a look in his eyes like he couldn’t wait until his next chance to kill something.

“No…” Adam gasped in shock. He suddenly saw the flash of a blade in the shadows, heard the heavy footsteps of a hunter’s approach.

_“You’re nothing but a beast.”_

He grabbed at the old wound in his leg, shaking his head. _This has to be a mistake,_ he thought, sucking in a breath. “No, no show me _Gaston,”_ he clarified. “From Molyneaux. The one who hurt Belle.”

The mirror flashed again, but the image remained the same. Adam’s eyes grew wide, hands trembling in fresh anger.

“You recognize him, my lord?” Gilles asked in surprise.

Adam gripped the mirror harder. “He’s—he’s the hunter who shot me!”

“Good _God,”_ Gilles breathed.

“That deranged, murderous son of a…” Adam started, trailing off. “If I’d known it was him…I’d have never let Belle near that place. Damn it! It’s a wonder she wasn’t ten _times_ as frightened of him!”

“My prince,” Henri said nervously. “I…I can still try to take him in, if you—”

“No,” Adam said fiercely. “No one goes near him. He’s too dangerous.” He paused, frowning deeply. “And don’t tell anyone about this. Not yet. Belle already feels bad enough about what happened—there’s no point in worrying her more.”

Gilles hummed. “Perhaps. Though we should heighten our guard near the trail all the same. If he knows of your existence, he might be able to track her that much more easily.”

“But he shouldn’t be able to connect her to me,” Adam said. “Belle promised not to speak a word of us to anyone. Besides, he never did locate the castle before.” _Though if he does, I’ll meet him myself,_ Adam thought darkly, grinding his teeth. He wasn’t fully grown when he’d first met the man—but now, Adam was convinced he could take him out without trouble should he come again. Gaston might be powerful, but he wasn’t eight feet tall with a set of sharp claws and the bulk of two brown bears.

He stared down at his sharp claws, deciding no weapon would be quite as satisfying to use against that brute as his bare hands.

* * *

“Show me him again.”

The mirror stalled before a bit of light flickered in its reflection. The image of Gaston appeared for a half a second before disappearing once again. There was no way Adam could have seen where he was in such a short time.

He shifted his weight where he sat, perched on his balcony outside the West Wing. He’d been asking the same question with increasing frequency over the days since his discovery; it seemed even the enchanted object was growing tired of his antics.

“Look, I know,” he sighed. “Maybe this is getting…obsessive. But if he decides to come here, it would only take him a couple hours to do so.” The mirror remained quiet, as though defying him. Adam scrunched up his face.  _I’m arguing with a hand mirror,_ he realized in chagrin. Of course, speaking with household objects was nothing new to him—he wondered if he’d still do it after the curse had broken. He frowned, but plodded on. “I just…I have to make sure. Please?” he asked, thinking he’d try mimicking Belle’s efforts to be polite towards the object.

It responded at last, and let the image linger. Gaston had a girl on each side of his bare chest, tucked into a large bed of messed sheets.

Adam made a sound of disgust, sticking out his tongue and looking away. “I should have listened to you,” he admitted.

The mirror flashed once more, showing a crowd breaking out in grand applause.

Adam rolled his eyes. “Very funny.”

He set the object down, leaning onto his knees and staring at the woods beyond for a long minute before getting an idea. “Tell you what. How about you just warn me if he enters our woods. Can you, um, do that?” he asked, turning back to the mirror.

It flashed again, showing a British redcoat standing and saluting with great animation.

 _I’ll take that as a yes,_ Adam decided, picking up the mirror and pulling a small cloth from his pocket. He wrapped it carefully around the glass before tucking it back in his belt. Even though the enchanted object had proved more than useful, part of him still wondered about it. The enchantress herself had given it to him, after all.

Still, he couldn’t help but feel the mirror was somehow…on his side. He huffed, shaking his head at himself. That certainly didn’t make any sense. And like the other reflective surfaces in the castle, he’d rather keep the reflection covered when he wasn’t using it. Just in case.

* * *

“One room, good sir.”

The old guard looked up, an enormous man with a thick chin and several weapons slung over his shoulder standing before him. “Um, lad…this is a _prison,”_ the guard said in annoyance.

“I know,” the young man said with an air of pride, digging a thick hand into his pocket and producing a small pouch. He tossed it to the guard, who opened it to reveal several shining gold coins.

The guard’s eyes grew wide, looking back up at the man before him. “Hmm,” he hummed, biting one of the coins before cinching up the pouch once again. “How long did ya want it for?”

The lad dropped another, heavier pouch into the guard’s hands. “’Til I get word,” he said vaguely.

The guard raised a brow. “Don’t get no mail in here, son.”

“That won’t be a problem.”

Shrugging, the guard pocketed the bribe and unlocked the front gates. “I’ll have to take those weapons though, Monsieur…?”

“LeGume,” the young man said, stepping inside. He shrugged off a shotgun, bow and quiver, and a large knapsack that clanked heavily against the floor. “But you can just call me Gaston.”

* * *

Adam sat awake beside the fire in his room, watching as it burned low. He’d been kept awake by the raging storm outside, winds rattling his balcony doors and thunder rumbling in the distance. It was especially loud to his ears, though he’d always found the sounds of a storm strangely calming.

Tonight, however, he could only wonder about the woman who slept one room away.

_“…next time.”_

Did she want him to come back? She’d been doing better, so much so that they’d decided to have the delayed dinner the following night. Still, he’d been wondering about her each night since the one they’d spent together, wondering if she was all right in there alone, if she was still having nightmares…if she’d really meant what she said about a _next time_. Wondered so much, in fact, that he’d sat awake late each night listening for the soft click of the hidden door to her room.

As if answering his thoughts, the very sound he’d been waiting for rang in his ears.

Adam was on his feet and across the space in an instant, pulling his own hidden door open and looking down into wide, hazel eyes.

“Sorry,” Belle rasped, eyes full of the lingering fear of her dreams and a deeper longing than he’d ever seen in them before. “I—”

“I’ll come,” he said quickly, letting her guide him back to the soft warmth of her bed. They settled down beneath the thick blankets—Adam taking care to leave his feet exposed—falling silent and listening to the sounds of the storm. Yet even here, with Belle in his arms, his thoughts turned to Molyneaux. Adam scowled in the darkness, his chest growing tight.

“Adam?”

“Mmm?”

She pulled back a little. “…Is something the matter?”

He grimaced. Good grief, but she was perceptive. “It’s nothing.”

She raised a brow at him.

“Nothing you need to worry about, at least,” he amended.

Her brow only rose further at that.

He sighed deeply. “It’s just…I found out something about Gaston,” he said with reluctance. “I thought you wouldn’t want to hear anything else about him after—”

“What is it?” she prodded.

He frowned. “I’ve met him before,” he admitted.

Her eyes grew wide, and she bolted up right. “What?!” she cried, looking down at him in fear. “When? How?”

Adam sat up slowly. “Five years ago. He was hunting on our grounds, and I approached him for help. And, well…” He cleared his throat in discomfort, distant thunder rolling through the quiet air. “He seemed to think me quite a desirable hunting trophy.”

“Sacre _Dieu,”_ Belle swore, something she rarely did. “You—you _talked_ to him and he still attacked you?”

“…Are you surprised?”

“No,” she said, nose wrinkling in disgust. “No, I’m not.” She stared away for a moment before sucking in a nervous breath. “Did he hurt you?”

“Um…” he started, grimacing. 

“He did!” she cried, eyes falling where his hand rested on his thigh. He hadn’t even realized he’d been rubbing it. “Oh, Adam—”

“Belle, it’s all right. I took an arrow to the leg, but Mathius fixed it up. I hardly notice it anymore.”

That didn’t seem to appease Belle at all. If anything, she looked more upset, biting her lip hard and running her fingers fretfully across her scalp.

Adam sighed. This was exactly why he hadn’t wanted to say anything. “I was a lot smaller then,” he explained. “Still a lanky teenager. If he came around again, I’d have no trouble with him.”

“You don’t understand,” she went on. “He saw something. My notebook—he took it before I could stop him, saw my drawings of the castle, the servants…” She paused, pulling her knees to her chest and looking away. “And a likeness of…you.”

“And you think he recognized me,” he inferred.

She shrugged. “I don’t know. Perhaps.”

Adam hummed thoughtfully. “It’s all right,” he said after a moment. “Gilles is already heightening the guard on the path in case he finds his way here. In fact,” he said, narrowing his eyes and feeling the corners of his nose wrinkle in disgust. “I hope he does so I can give him what he deserves.”

A strange expression crossed Belle’s face at that. “…Adam,” she said carefully. “I don’t mind that you’re angry. I mean… _I’m_ angry. But just don’t…” She bit her lip, looking up at him from the darkness. “Please don’t let your anger make you act like he would.”

Adam felt a twinge of guilt, recalling the increasingly violent thoughts he’d been having towards the man. He pursed his lips, and nodded. “I won’t,” he promised.

They settled back down then, and Adam realized he felt better now that Belle knew what had been weighing on him the past few days.

“I’m just so glad you’re all right,” she said a moment later, wrapping one arm as far around him as it would reach. “He’s such a monster…”

“And I’m not?” he teased.

“Not even a little bit.”

Adam’s chest filled with warmth. “Ah, come on,” he said, hiding a smile as he rested his head atop hers. “I thought I was pretty scary.”

He heard a quiet snort. “You’re only scary when…” She paused, yawning and nestling closer against him. “…When you try to be.”

“I think you’ve just gotten used to me,” he whispered.

Belle’s eyes remained closed, but he caught her small smile in the darkness. God, she was so sweet, and so wonderful, and Adam felt like if he didn’t confess his feelings soon he was going to drown in his love for her.

 _Well then, tell her now!_ that voice in his head demanded.

Adam’s eyes grew wide, and he sucked in a nervous breath. _No, I’m not ready yet,_ he told himself. Tomorrow—he was going to tell her tomorrow, after dinner and dancing and all that romantic stuff Lumiere had assured him would create “the perfect moment.”

Besides, wouldn’t it be strange to change back into a human now, lying in her bed? He suddenly imagined shrinking to the point where his own clothes didn’t fit him anymore, not an inch away from her. He flushed furiously at the thought.

 _Or what if I don’t change back all at once?_ he wondered a moment later. The thought of another gradual change—this time in reverse—seemed to draw the blood from his cheeks as quickly as it had entered. That did _not_ sound pleasant, nor something he’d much like Belle to witness. Though he wouldn’t put it past the enchantress to make every part of this spell as miserable as possible, even the breaking of it.

He bit his lip fiercely, suddenly nervous about more than just saying three simple words. He hadn’t realized until now that it was possible to feel both overwhelmingly excited and terrified about the same thing all at once.

“Belle?” he managed a moment later, realizing he’d been completely lost in thought the last minute. When he looked down, however, he realized she’d already fallen into another deep sleep.

He smiled. “Goodnight, _la Belle au bois dormant,”_ he whispered. Sleeping Beauty. He chuckled quietly at his own joke, deciding they’d need to have dinner early tomorrow night if he was even to get a _chance_ to tell her how he felt before she fell asleep.

* * *

Belle pulled open the large wardrobe. The yellow gown greeted her, and she smiled. It was New Year’s Eve, and tonight she’d be having the promised dinner with Adam. Her bruises had healed quickly, and they were now but a faint yellow that Madame de la Grande Bouche promised could be easily covered up with some powder.

She pulled the gown down, holding it fondly. She’d looked at it in secret a dozen times that week, knowing she really had no right to wear such a thing but wondering all the same. She thought of Adam—cursed, yes, but still a prince. Maybe wearing this, she could be like one of the women he would have been with had his life gone as it should.

 _He doesn’t care about that,_ her heart told her. Still, it might be nice to pretend all the same.

She heard a childlike cheer then, glancing towards the long windows to her left. She blinked against the bright snow, piled high from the latest storm, then glanced down at the grounds below. Henri was rolling a giant snowball against the ground, and if Belle squinted, she could see Chip atop his shoulder. She smiled, watching as the father lifted the ball of snow atop another, packing it together in what looked like the beginnings of a snowman. Chip’s animated voice floated, muffled, through the window.

Further across the grounds, Adam moved into her line of view, a shovel resting over his shoulder. He paused along the path, breathing heavily and wiping one arm across his brow. Then he turned, looking straight back at her.

Belle flushed. _He caught me again!_ she realized, smiling sheepishly and returning his wave as she recalled her first stay at the palace, spying on him and Max playing in the snow. How did he always know when she was watching? Quickly tucking the dress behind her and out of sight, Belle brought her fingers to her lips and blew him a kiss.

Adam, grinning ear to ear, reached out as though catching something in the air. He brought the paw to his face, pressing it against cheek. Belle, in spite of herself, giggled. Adam’s distant shoulders shook with amusement.

Feeling twice as happy as she had before, Belle turned away, looking back down at the dress in her hands and rubbing her thumbs against the smooth, satiny cloth. Sucking in a breath, she draped the gown over one arm and headed into the hall.

Ten minutes later, she’d made it to one of the lower levels of the East Wing. Mrs. Potts, Sophie, and Madame de la Grande Bouche waited for her. Belle greeted them, chewing her lip as she held up the gown with some trepidation.

“Ah, yes, a beautiful gown indeed!” the wardrobe declared before Belle could even explain. “Oh, I can just recall when Queen Marie wore that one—what an image she was in it. Though I should warn you, dear, it’s a bit outdated…”

“Outdated?” Mrs. Potts said in disbelief. “It’s a classic!”

“Besides, you realize everything in your drawers probably went out of style years ago, right?” Sophie pointed out.

The wardrobe gasped in horror. “Sacrebleu!” she cried. “You’re right!”

Belle ignored them, having moved towards the three-way mirror in the corner of the fitting room, gazing at the dress as she held it against her. She didn’t know what it was, but something about tonight felt important. Adam had certainly been acting different, the closer it came. Oddly nervous at some moments, playful and giddy at others.

It was just dinner, wasn’t it?

“Do you think…do you think I could just try it on?” she asked, turning back to the others. “I know I shouldn’t wear it, but—”

“Of course you should!” the wardrobe cried. “Such beautiful clothes, sitting unworn for a decade. It’s a crime, I tell you.”

“Here,” Sophie said, moving over and taking the gown from Belle’s hands. “You’re going to need some help getting into this one.”

Several long minutes later, Belle felt the top of the crisscrossing ribbons running up her back finally starting to tighten beneath Sophie’s cool fingers. She looked down, touching the soft, pretty ruching of the skirt as she waited.

“Done! Let’s take a look,” Sophie said excitedly.

Stepping out from behind the screen, Belle flushed. About a dozen other women had wandered in while she’d been changing, their chatter giving in to expressions of delight as she moved towards the mirrors. Belle stepped forward, and blushed further. What looked like a noblewoman stared back at her—was this really her? She touched the gentle sweetheart neckline, which swept across her chest and framed each shoulder. It didn’t show too much, like she’d worried—revealing her shoulders in a way that was flattering, but not so much of her chest that she felt uncomfortable. In truth, she just felt…really beautiful.

Smiling wide, Belle spun in front of the mirror. The skirts flowed like water, before settling back in place. They seemed to shimmer, even in the modest lighting of the room.

“Okay, you don’t have a choice,” Sophie said from behind her, putting two hands on her hips. “You’re wearing that.”

Everyone laughed, adding their own affirmations.

“Will you believe how well it fits?”

“And look how it brings out her eyes!”

“It’s like it was made for you, love,” Mrs. Potts observed.

“Mm, so what to do with your hair,” Sophie went on, lifting Belle’s loose strands from the back of her neck and holding them up in several ways as she mused.

“And makeup!” the wardrobe added. “And shoes, and accessories of course! Ah! I have the perfect thing,” she proclaimed, throwing open her cupboards and digging into one of the drawers. Several others spoke up as well, and soon the room was a bustle of ribbons and shoes and powder as decisions were made all around her.

Belle chuckled, quickly realizing she was unlikely to have any say in the rest of this. That suited her just fine. She’d have gone to dinner in her work boots that night if it meant just getting to wear this dress.

* * *

Adam sat at the vanity in his room, staring into his lap while scissors snipped at the fur around his head. The mirrors were gone in this part of the castle, but even if one had been there, he would have avoided it. Frankly, he felt like a fool.

“This isn’t going to change anything,” he huffed, staring at his freshly filed claws.

“My lord, give us a chance!” Lumiere said gaily, directing the coatrack behind him to make a couple more snips. He felt the strands being pulled into a ribbon a moment later, and grimaced; it had been a while since he’d had his hair tugged at so much. Well, fur, in this case.

“There we are, Your Highness.”

Adam stood, moving back towards the bed where black trousers, a deep golden vest, and a lightly embroidered, royal blue waistcoat lay carefully atop the bedspread. The color looked eerily similar to the curtains of the Bleu Room—or perhaps, what _used_ to be the curtains of the Bleu Room. Even with alterations, it had been nearly impossible to fit him into any ordinary clothes in the past few years. His everyday clothes usually consisted of three or four of his father’s old ones unstitched and sewn back together to fit him. This, however, had clearly been cut straight from whatever fabric had been confiscated for the task.

Pulling on the trousers and a clean shirt, he slid his arms through the vest, tying the cravat as best he could, then pulled on the formal coat with the aid of his valet, wondering if it would still fit him tomorrow. He sucked in a breath. _Tonight’s the night._

The valet, despite fingers made of wooden knobs, managed to fix Adam’s poor attempt at securing his necktie. Then he straightened his jacket, and placed a lean arm against Adam’s shoulder.

“You’re ready, my prince,” the man said warmly. He’d been the same servant to help him dress as a child—still here, like everyone, after all these years. A man of few words, but still on his side.

“Thanks, Barthélémy.”

As Adam turned towards the door, the man cleared his throat behind him. “And my lord?” he added.

Adam looked back, raising a brow.

“Should you…find the need,” he said straightly. “Those pants can tighten quite significantly.”

Adam, in spite of himself, laughed. “I may very well need them to,” he admitted, though his heart raced at the thought.

Following Lumiere into the hall, Adam tried to calm his heart as they passed the ancient paintings of the West Wing and entered the lower floors of the castle. Here, a few mirrors lined the walls, and he finally dared a look at his reflection.

“Hey,” he said, stopping and staring at himself straight on. “Hey…I don’t look so bad!” he exclaimed, starting to smile.

Lumiere grinned. “What did I tell you, my prince?”

Adam turned his head this way and that. “Not bad at all,” he said, surprised at himself. He stood tall, holding his collar in mock pride. “A real king of the jungle, no?”

“My lord?”

Adam laughed again. It seemed easier to joke about himself now—now that he felt so sure he wouldn’t be this way forever. He hurried off down the hall towards the grand stairs.

He paused just beyond the entrance, noticing Cogsworth waiting at the threshold. The man went cross-eyed for a moment, checking his clock face. “Ah, just in time, my lord,” he said, pushing open the door with no little effort, then resuming his formal posture and motioning towards the entrance. “Your lady…awaits.”

Sucking in a breath, Adam straightened his cravat once again, stepping out onto the western landing. Across the way stood its eastern counterpart, both stairs leading down and joining at the center. He suddenly recalled days long past, when he would descend these steps hand in hand with his mother, meeting Papa on the other side before turning to meet an assembly of guests. It was like another life completely, one he never thought he’d experience again.

But here he was, and though no crowds were there to greet him, someone did await him on the other side. His greatest friend in the world, the woman he’d given his heart to. And while he’d grown accustomed to her presence, in this moment he suddenly remembered just how impossible it all really seemed that she had found her way here. To him.

He finally looked up, and felt his chest swell beneath him. She looked a vision in that yellow gown, not unlike the sun itself as it rose in the east. His sun, the light chasing away the darkness that had so nearly consumed him.

Across the way, Belle smiled a little shyly, offering an inconspicuous half-wave in his direction. Adam laughed warmly, smiling wide; it took all he had not to bound down the stairs at the sight of her. Instead, he forced himself to straighten, moving down the steps as she did the same. At the bottom he stopped, bowing low.

“Mademoiselle Dupont,” he said deeply, grinning a bit as he looked back up at her.

Belle appeared utterly tickled at that, sweeping into a curtsy of her own. “Prince Adam.”

Knowing a few servants were watching, they tried not to chuckle too loudly. Adam offered his arm, leaning down close. “You are _so_ beautiful,” he whispered, unable to keep it in any longer. It was true in this moment, of course—hair pulled half up into a pretty golden band, the rest cascading down over one gorgeous shoulder, soft gloved fingers gripping his arm, the rest of that dress just…wow. She looked like a _goddess._

But then at the same time…even such outward elegance seemed to pale in comparison to the person beneath it. Adam had long thought Belle had a beautiful spirit, and anything she wore could only come within a fraction of representing all that she was on the inside.

This, however, was just a feeling, one he’d not yet found the words for. But even as a pretty blush crossed Belle’s cheeks at the compliment, he wondered if she didn’t read the deeper meaning in his words.

* * *

Belle leaned sideways, spotting Adam’s form across the way. He was hidden behind the candlesticks lining the long dining table.

“Hello down there,” she called out in jest.

She heard him laugh. “How’s your _coq au vin?”_ he asked.

“Delicious,” _if a bit lonely,_ she admitted inwardly. They usually ate together in the kitchen, or sometimes in the library. This was lovely, but…she couldn’t help but wonder why a formal dinner involved sitting so far _apart._

A moment later, she heard his chair shift against the floor, then smiled in victory as he lifted it in one paw and his plate in the other and moved down the length of the table. Behind them, Belle thought she heard Cogsworth muttering something about proper customs, but Adam seemed either not to hear, or to be ignoring the man. Probably the latter.

“Much better,” he said, settling beside her. He glanced at her place setting, then into her eyes. “Ah, so you figured out the utensil situation,” he observed as one of the footman brought over his own set that he’d abandoned.

“I asked Mrs. Potts,” she admitted. “She said to start with those on the outside, and work in.”

“Same as Cogsworth told me.”

They laughed, enjoying the meal side by side, Adam making a valiant effort to use the formal silverware that was much too small for his grip. By the time dessert was cleared away, the candles had dimmed, and Belle was speaking animatedly about her first lessons with Master Pascal. Adam smiled while she did so, reaching silently for one of her hands and resting his chin in his other as he listened.

“What will be the first?” he asked when she fell silent.

“Mm?”

“Your first masterpiece,” he clarified, eyes bright. “What will it be?”

Belle smiled, shaking her head at him. She reached up to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear, but found none, each strand already gathered carefully away from her face. “I don’t know about _masterpiece,_ but…I’d certainly like to paint the valley,” she admitted, resting her hand back on the table. “From Abel’s Peak, of course.”

He smiled, like he knew something she didn’t. “Why there?” he asked softly.

Belle sucked in breath at the question. She thought of the cliff side overlooking the lake, the forested hills covered with snow, a warm presence beside her. It was the place where she learned his name, where she learned about his past. Where she had made her first real friend.

Where everything had started.

“…You know why,” Belle breathed. Her heart beat once, twice—that deep, warm feeling she’d been feeling more and more these days threatening to burst forth.

Adam held both her hands now—she hadn’t even noticed it happen. Music started floating into the room, and his ears perked up.

“Come,” he said. “The night isn’t over yet.”

“It isn’t?” Belle asked, though she wasn’t entirely surprised. He’d obviously been up to something—now she just got to find out what. She bit her lip excitedly as Adam pulled out her chair and led her into the hall.

They followed the notes towards the ballroom, where two footmen coat racks stood, bending at the centers before pushing open the doors to let them inside.

“Oh!” Belle gasped, bringing her hands to her cheeks in surprise. She’d been in this room a few times, but it had always been dark and dusty after years of disuse. Now every square inch of it sparkled; the grand chandelier bright against the tall, domed ceiling; enormous windows looking out into the dark, forested hills.

Something shifted beside her then, and Belle looked back to see Adam facing her, one paw upright in invitation and the other placed behind his back. “May I have this dance?” he asked formally.

Belle’s eyes grew wide and bright. “Really?”

A tiny, playful grin crept over his face. “Really.”

Belle’s smile, in contrast, was unrestrained. She rested her hand in his, feeling a blush cross her cheeks, and let Adam guide her into the room. _No wonder Mrs. Potts was so insistent on the more comfortable shoes!_ she realized with a mix of amusement and excitement, catching a change in the music as they stopped at the very center of the floor.

A waltz. She smiled wider, her hand shifting in his as he turned to face her. Adam’s paw came to rest against her back then, so large it nearly encased her entire waist, and he stepped forward, pulling them close. Just as she reached up to rest her own hand against his arm, they were off.

This was _nothing_ like dancing with Papa in their small kitchen. Adam held her gently, yet firmly, guiding them in long, graceful sweeps across the floor. At times, he would just barely lift her from her feet, and she wondered if she weren’t gliding on air. Within minutes, they’d already covered the entire room, and Belle found it impossible to repress her growing smile—especially when he would twirl her around and bring her close once again.

As the song neared its end, she gasped as he dipped her low. “Would it be too forward of me to ask for another?” he asked, eyes dancing. He looked thoroughly pleased with himself.

Belle laughed, clinging to him as she dangled near the floor, though she felt little fear of falling. “Well, seeing as I’m previously unasked for, you may,” she quipped.

He chuckled, lifting her quickly up and off her feet. She cried out in surprised delight as he spun them both beneath the grand chandelier. He held her fast against his side, and she held the edge of her skirt, its pretty fabric flowing behind as they turned.

The music slowed then, the melody unfamiliar but poignant, filling Belle’s chest with a feeling of wonder. Adam slowed too, still holding her close. The mirth had left his eyes, replaced by that something _more_ she had yet to understand. She let the hem of her dress fall from her fingertips as he lowered her back to her feet.

Neither returned to the waltz, both momentarily forgetting the steps as the candles around the room began to dim of their own accord. Adam's fingers caught hers again, pulling them to his chest. She rested her head there too, and together they swayed to the soft notes filling the darkness.

Belle wasn’t sure how long the music lasted, but she wished it would never end—not with the way Adam was holding her, the way they drew closer with each breath, the way he brushed her hair aside so the tip of one careful finger could trace the skin of her shoulder beneath. No, she was feeling things she’d never felt before, and she didn’t want it to stop.

Yet the song did, inevitably, come to an end, and a calm quiet filled the large space. Neither of them moved for a long moment. Their breaths were deep, but not from the dance.

Adam shifted first, looking around at the living candlesticks flickering along the walls, the coat racks now letting the strings of their instruments go still. He looked back down, lifting her hand from his chest to his lips and barely brushing the back of her hand against them.

“I have something to show you,” he whispered.

Belle could only nod, still overwhelmed by the moment, the back of her hand tingling where he’d kissed it. It was the first time he’d done so, and she couldn’t help but wonder what more would happen if he didn’t have fangs to worry about.  

Arm in arm, he led her towards the tall windows. Another coat rack stood there, their cloaks hanging on one of his limbs. Adam helped Belle into hers, then pulled on his own before leading them out the glass doors to the balcony. Belle braced herself for the freezing air, but was only met with a cool breeze.

“A warm front,” he said, as though reading her thoughts. “And a clear sky, following the storm yesterday. The timing couldn’t have been more perfect.”

“Perfect for what?” Belle pressed, unable to hold back her curiosity.

He just smiled, guiding them towards the edge of the balcony and down a hidden set of steps that led towards the gardens below. At the base stood Olive, already saddled, a lantern hanging from a hook on the wall that glowed against the dark night air. Adam reached down and lifted Belle onto the horse’s back. She sat side-saddle, smiling as he made an endearing attempt to smooth out her skirt that had been scrunched up in the process.

He stepped back a moment later, sweeping aside his cloak and pulling out the enchanted mirror from his belt. “Any wolves nearby tonight?” he asked quietly.

The mirror remained blank. He nodded in satisfaction, tucking it back into his belt before pulling the lantern from the hook beside them with one paw. He reached for the reins with the other.

“Let’s go, Olive,” he said quietly.

They moved through the garden path, across the courtyard, and out the eastern gates. The path had been shoveled since the snowfall, and Belle suddenly realized what Adam had been up to earlier. As they turned towards the south, she also realized where they were going.

“The peak?” she asked, puzzled. “But…it’s so dark out. We won’t be able to see anything.”

“Not true,” Adam said simply, nodding to his guards lining the trail, several more lanterns spotting the path as they moved up the narrow slope. The forest was still, the vegetation beginning to thin the higher they climbed.

As they broke through the last of the trees, Belle sucked in a breath, realizing what they’d come to see. Framed by the dark valley around, the full dome of the sky became visible. It was filled with a bright ocean of stars.

Belle brought a hand to her chest. She’d seen the stars from Molyneaux, of course, but never so many at once. And never from so high. They felt so close, she almost wondered if she couldn’t touch them. She reached up on impulse, hands dark against the heavens above.

A warm presence was beside her then, Adam’s arms reaching around the saddle. He leaned against her shoulder, humming deeply. “Do you like it?”

She nodded, wondering if her heart wouldn’t burst. “It’s _glorious.”_

“Let’s stay a while, then,” he went on softly. She finally looked back at him, then towards the place he’d set the lantern. The snow had been cleared here too, several thick quilts lining the ground and what looked like a small, steaming thermos resting in the snow. Her chest swelled further, and she let Adam lift her from where she sat. He didn’t set her on her feet, however, but held her bridal style and crossed the remaining length of snow-covered earth before setting her carefully on the bed of blankets.

“I promised the Madame we wouldn’t ruin your shoes,” he explained warmly. “Also…” He paused, moving back the way they’d come and pulling something from Olive’s saddlebag before returning to her side. “Mrs. Potts was worried your feet might get cold,” he said, holding out a pair of thick stockings.

Belle chuckled, slipping off her heels and sliding her toes into the woolen socks. “Did everyone know about tonight but me?”

He dimmed the lantern before settling down behind her. “…Perhaps,” he admitted, producing another thick quilt from the darkness and pulling it over them. His legs drew up on either side of hers, arms sliding beneath the blanket and wrapping themselves around her torso as he rested his head on her shoulder. She hummed, leaning into his cheek and gazing at the skies above.

It was truly glorious, and so vast. Strange, how someone as insignificant as her in the grand scheme of things could feel so much. Where did she fit in it all?

Where did _they_ fit in it all?

“Adam?”

He breathed deeply. “…Mmhmm?”

“Do you ever wonder what’s out there?”

He hummed, following her gaze back to the stars above. “Yes.”

Before he could say more, something flashed in the darkness. Belle gasped, and Adam pulled back quickly. “It’s the mirror,” he realized, pulling it from his belt and looking at it quickly. He relaxed in a moment, however, and held it out before them. Belle cradled it in her hands, staring into its image of a mysterious, beautiful array of light and shadow.

“What is it?” she asked in awe.

Adam’s hands rested atop her own, watching the glowing glass from over her shoulder. He was quiet for a long minute, the image changing to reveal a strange cloud of colors and stars against a sea of black.

“It’s the heavens,” he whispered.

Belle looked back at him, eyes wide before staring back at the reflection. Could it really be?

Adam was still, barely breathing for a long moment. “I didn’t…I didn’t know it could show us…” He trailed off, clearly as overwhelmed as she was. Instead, they remained silent, pressed close, watching the wonders of the universe unfold before their eyes. Grand clusters of stars, bright red suns, enormous spheres of light and clouds and ice, things no words yet existed to describe. Things never before seen by man.

When the mirror finally darkened, both turned their eyes upwards once again, knowing more of the mysteries above and all the more overwhelmed by what they saw. Belle felt Adam’s heavy breaths against her back, her own chest flooding with wonder. She blinked away tears.

“That was…” she started, sucking in a breath. “That was…beautiful.”

Adam only nodded. He set the mirror aside, then reached for her good shoulder, turning her gently to face him. “Still,” he said deeply. “You’re more beautiful than it all.”

Belle watched him, unbreathing. Somehow, she felt he wasn’t talking about what she looked like at all. Somehow, the way he said it seemed to mean something else.

* * *

Adam searched Belle’s eyes. Did she know what he meant? Did she know when he said she was beautiful he really meant so much more?

Maybe she did, but it didn’t matter. He had to tell her himself.

“Belle,” he said. He swallowed, reaching for her fingers. He felt his own tremble, but couldn’t seem to calm them. He swallowed again, staring at their hands as he spoke. “Are you happy here…with me?” he asked quietly.

Gentle fingers brushed his cheek, and he looked up quickly. Belle looked at him with soft eyes. “You know I am,” she whispered.

The quaking in his hands ceased, his fear cast away in an instant. He ran his knuckles over her cheek, fingers trailing down the soft skin of her neck. Belle sighed, eyes fluttering shut for a moment. He reached up again, cupping her face in his paw, fingers in her hair. She leaned into it, one small hand resting on his as she gazed back up at him longingly. 

This was the moment. He knew it. And suddenly—he wasn’t nervous. Suddenly…he’d never felt so sure of anything. He leaned close, gripping her fingers with his free hand, heart full of more love than he’d ever felt in his life. “Belle,” he breathed. “I—”

“Say one more word, and she’s dead.”

Adam froze. His skin crawled head to toe, the fur on the back of his neck standing on end. Unbreathing, he looked up slowly. A pair of eyes watched him from the dark trail.

Blood red eyes.


	19. Chapter 18

_Maurice was marching._

_Across bright green fields, surrounded by men in grey and blue uniforms that matched his own, orders being shouted at them by the officers on horseback as they dashed ahead of the line._

_It was gone in an instant. Grass was replaced by a war-torn, dusty landscape, blue clothes stained with red, shouts eclipsed by the sound of a hundred muskets firing at once._

_“Dupont!”_

_Maurice turned, a familiar face beckoning him towards the trees. He followed, unable to avoid the piles of death beneath his feet, hands sweating as he gripped his own weapon in numb fingers. Even after months of using it, the gun still felt foreign to him—nothing like the plow he was used to._

_They made it to a patch of dense growth, ducking quickly into a shallow ditch._

_“What are the odds we both make it out of this alive, Thomas?” Maurice asked dryly, though the fear tugged at his chest._

_“Slim,” the man chuckled darkly, glancing over his shoulder to scout the grounds for enemy soldiers. He leaned back, glancing at Maurice with a wry look. “Though one of us? There’s a chance.”_

_Maurice frowned at that, gripping the weapon harder._

_“It’s gotta be you,” Thomas went on, mirth fading from his voice. “She’s waiting for you, isn’t she?”_

Soleil. _The thought of her was his only patch of light in this death-invested darkness. Maurice swallowed roughly. “I’ll place my bets on the slim chance,” he said earnestly. “You’re going to be my first man, right?”_

_Thomas barked out a laugh, barely audible over the shouts and gunshots around them. Then he stopped, face splitting into a mess of blood._

_“NO!” Maurice shouted. He couldn’t heart his own voice, the shot that had killed his friend still ringing in his ears. Thomas fell, silent and dead, into his lap._

_Maurice choked back a groan, looking up. A musket was smoking paces away, gripped tight in an enemy’s grasp. The soldier—no, the **boy** —looked no older than fifteen. He reached for the pouch at his hip, hands quaking as he began reloading the weapon. _

_Maurice pushed himself to his feet, numb. He reached for his own musket, loading the ammunition quicker than any other could. He’d made a few adjustments to the weapon, after all._

_He aimed at the soldier, feeling nothing. The boy finally looked up and caught sight of Maurice, eyes growing wide. His own gun was only half loaded._

_Maurice hesitated. His numbness dissolved in an instant, replaced by an overwhelming sorrow. His face contorted in pain and defeat, and he lowered his weapon. The boy gasped in shock, then ran off._

_A moment later, a stray bullet caught the lad’s neck. He fell into a heap among the dead._

_Maurice groaned, looking at the sky, hands shaking **.**_ I need to move, _he realized. But he couldn’t. Instead, he knelt back down, rolling Thomas’ body onto his back._

_Blood ran down the corpse’s mouth. But instead of Thomas, it was Soleil’s dead, lifeless eyes that stared back at him._

Maurice woke to screaming. His own.

He was on a cold, splintered floor, gasping for breath. Someone was pounding on the wall from the adjacent apartment.

“Oi!” a muffled voice called out. “Keep it down!”

Maurice’s cheeks flared in humiliation. _I had a fit,_ he realized, blinking away tears as the image of Soleil lingered in his thoughts. Yet unlike in the past, neither his daughter nor his wife were there to comfort him. For the former was a hundred lieues away, and the latter was gone from this world.

He braced himself on the mattress, pulling himself to the edge of the bed. Staring back at the floor, he grabbed at his chest, trying to quell flaring ache inside. _Oh Belle,_ he thought with regret, _how can I bear to return to you without her?_

Footsteps tore him from his thoughts. Maurice sighed. “I’m sorry,” he said, assuming one of the neighbors had come at the sound of his cries. “I’m all right. I simply had a—”

He stopped, eyes growing wide as he finally looked up. A short man draped in black stood above him, a quiver against his back, eyes the only portion of him visible in the darkness. Strangely, a single red rose was tucked into the man’s heavy tunic.

“Who are you?” Maurice asked roughly.

The man didn’t respond, simply reaching down and grabbing Maurice by the collar.

“Stop!” Maurice shouted, fighting back with fresh strength. Yet the intruder was strong, stronger than he looked given his small frame.

Maurice’s chest grew cold as ice. “Help!” he cried out in fear. “Someone, please! Help—”

He stopped, cries stifled as the man held him in place and pressed a damp cloth over his mouth.

 _Belle,_ Maurice thought, a dozen regrets crossing his mind within seconds. He cared little for his own life at this point, but what would his daughter do if he didn’t return? He’d left her nothing but an empty home—and even that wouldn’t be hers, for the law wouldn’t let her inherit anything as a woman. Belle didn’t even have a penny to her dowry. How could she ever survive in this world alone?

Maurice gasped against the cloth, letting one lingering cry hang in the air. _Will no one help me?_ he wondered desperately, mind beginning to fade with whatever drug had moistened the cloth. A moment later, he fell into darkness.

There were some who’d heard his weak calls for help, but no one came. Paris was full of lunatics, after all, so those who heard simply buried their heads further beneath their covers.

* * *

Adam’s hands were trembling. He still hadn’t taken a breath, watching as the enchantress emerged slowly from the trees. Her face was hooded, but it did little to hide those eyes. Had they always _glowed?_

“Adam?” Belle asked, soft fingers against his cheek.

“Not a word, my pet,” the witch went on. She raised a thin arm, pointing a lazy finger up at the trees behind her. His eyes followed, then grew wide. Dark, masked figures filled the branches, crouching in the shadows surrounding Abel’s Peak. Each held a bow, arrows pulled back and aimed directly at the woman in his arms.

He pulled Belle closer, arms trembling. How was this happening?!

“Adam, what’s wrong?” Belle asked in bewilderment, turning around. Her eyes scanned the path, passing right over the spot where the enchantress stood. “Did you see someone?” she asked nervously, turning back to him.

Adam only blinked. Couldn’t Belle see her too? Couldn’t she _hear_ her?

“Oh, didn’t realize I could appear to you alone?” the witch went on, simpering. “I thought you would have realized that ability of mine by now. Made it quite easy to slip past your silly excuse for a guard.”

In a heartbeat, it clicked. His mother, seeing something in her vanity mirror he couldn’t. Belle, sleepwalking into his room, looking like she was talking to some silent, invisible presence.

The enchantress could choose who she was visible to. They never had a chance, did they?

“Now, you do exactly as I say, and we’ll get the girl out of harm’s way, hmm?” the witch went on.

Adam remained still. He didn’t dare make a move. He might be strong, but strength would do little against two dozen sharp-eyed archers.

“You’re feeling ill. You need to retire early for the evening,” the enchantress commanded him. “ _Say it.”_

“Adam?” Belle asked again. She kept looking between him and the path behind them. She didn’t see the men in the trees—what reason had she to look up there?

“I…I’m feeling ill,” Adam rasped. Suddenly, it wasn’t a lie. “I need to retire early for the evening.”

“Oh, Adam,” Belle said in concern, rising to her feet and reaching for his hands. “Here, let’s get back then.”

He nodded, not daring to say anything else. He was trapped.

* * *

The walk back was torture. Adam passed his guards, each standing dutifully in place, yet entirely unaware of the evil presence lurking behind them. The witch’s footsteps were silent, no prints left in the snow as she followed him and Belle down the trail. And even with his enhanced hearing, Adam could just barely catch the soft brush of padded feet in the trees high above. Whoever they were, those archers weren’t just skilled in their weaponry, but in stealth.

He was surrounded on all sides—an invisible enemy behind and a troop that may as well have been invisible above. He felt sicker by the minute, mind desperate to find a way out of this. He’d prepared for a dozen other possibilities, all involving his uncle’s return, or one powerful witch coming on her own. Those things he could deal with—seeing the king’s army approach through the enchanted mirror, he could send Belle and the others into hiding. Have the witch come herself, and he could be warned by his guards and take her on alone. But this…God, it was so simple. And he hadn’t seen it coming at all.

He reached out for Belle’s hand where it rested on Olive’s saddle, glancing up in an effort to keep an eye on the men above.

“Eyes ahead, Beast,” the witch ordered him. He grit his teeth, but obeyed, staring back down the sloping path.

“Adam,” Belle said, looking into the trees where he’d glanced just moments ago. The men had anticipated that, it seemed, ducking away into the shadows before she could spot them. She looked back at him, frowning. “Are you…are you sure you didn’t see something? You seem so nervous.”

“You didn’t see anything,” the witch said from behind them. He could hear the amusement in her voice. “You’re just tired.”

“I didn’t see anything,” Adam said flatly. He hated himself for it, hated the enchantress for making him lie to her. “I’m just…tired.”

Belle bit her lip, but nodded. She seemed anxious, concerned, and worst of all…confused.

That didn’t matter, though. Not now. All that mattered was getting her out of this alive. His heart flooded instantly with regret. He should have never let her stay here, not once he realized she was a target. He’d been selfish, hadn’t he? And now because of him, Belle was one arrowshot away from—

His stomach turned, and he swallowed against the bile rising in his throat. _Oh God above, keep her safe,_ he prayed, hoping desperately his thoughts could be heard. Hoping desperately he was right about someone being there to hear them.

After what felt like an eternity, they reached the eastern gates, moving within the walls and between the garden rows. Adam turned his head sideways as much as he dared, glancing back towards the woods. The archers didn’t follow, but remained in the trees.

“My friends can strike a sparrow’s eye from a thousand arpents off,” the witch said, as though anticipating his next thoughts. “Though perhaps you’d like to test their range on human girls?”

Adam clenched his teeth, staring back at the castle in fury. A fury that masked a terrible, gut-wrenching fear.

They deposited Olive at the stables before moving up the palace steps and through the dark entryway. The guards looked understandably confused—they, like the rest, had no doubt assumed they’d be seeing their prince in a different form upon his return. No doubt assumed _they_ would be there to greet him with arms of their own. But ever loyal to their duties, the men said nothing as Adam guided Belle through the halls.

He dared another glance back again. Were they being followed? These halls were dark—he couldn’t be sure.

“Should I send for Docteur Mathius?”

He blinked, looking towards the sound of the voice. Belle was gripping his arm, looking more worried than he’d ever seen her.

“You really do look ill,” she said, squeezing his hand. “Here, let me go see if I can’t find him…”

“Refuse her,” came the voice from the darkness.

“No,” Adam told Belle. His throat was dry as sand paper. “I mean…I’m all right. I just need to sleep.” _And I need to keep you safe._

She bit her lip, but nodded.

“Take her to her room,” the witch went on, sounding impatient.

Unsure what else he could do, Adam led Belle up the long, winding stairs and into the West Wing. Outside her door, they stopped. Belle stared at the floor for a long moment, then looked up at him. She smiled a bit, but her confusion and worry was more than evident.

“I had a wonderful evening,” she tried, a strange uncertainty in her voice.

“Don’t answer,” the enchantress ordered. “Just nod and say goodnight.”

Adam did as he was told.

Belle entered her room slowly, looking back more than once before finally shutting the door behind her.

“Very good,” breathed the voice behind him.

Adam grit his teeth, finally turning around. The enchantress smirked, then pointed towards his room. He glanced anxiously towards Belle’s door again, but obeyed. Entering the darkness of his chambers, he stopped, forming fists at his side as the witch passed through behind him.

“Shut the door, Beast.”

Snarling, he did so slowly, thoughts moving a thousand miles a minute. The archers were clearly gone, and they were alone. If he could just take her out now…

The door clicked, and he spun around, claws flexed, mind made up. He charged forward with all his might—

And fell into a bank of snow.

Gasping, he shook his head and stood quickly, reorienting himself. _What happened?_ he thought desperately. _Where am I?_

“So predictable,” a cruel voice said from behind him. “And don’t fret so. We’re still on your own grounds. Just thought we needed somewhere more… _isolated_.”

He turned around. The enchantress stood there, still hooded, holding an enormous mirror to her side. It had a thick, golden frame, carved in elaborate patterns, and stood even taller than himself. The object must have been at least three times her weight, yet she held it up as though it were a flimsy piece of parchment.

 _How did I get here?_ he wondered. _Where did she get that—_ He stopped, watching with wide eyes as the mirror began to shrink. Slowly, at first, then speeding up until it was small enough to fit into the palm of one’s hand. It fell into the snow, and the enchantress reached down to pick it up, tucking the delicate object into her robes.

He didn’t know why they were here, didn’t know why she’d let Belle go unharmed, but thank God she had. And now…now he had a chance he couldn’t let pass by.

Adam tore off his jacket, letting it fall in the snow. Then he dropped to all fours, sucked in a sharp breath, and charged once again.

He caught the sound of bowstrings, but was too late to shift force as a swarm of arrows sunk into the hard earth all around him. Each struck a hair’s width from his flesh, but no closer.

“Oh, yes—and my friends are still here,” the enchantress went on. “I wouldn’t make any… _sudden movements,_ if I were you.”

Adam looked into the trees. The archers were here, closer than before, and he could finally make out their features. Heads wrapped in black cloth, but a narrow strip of skin visible on each face that revealed dark eyes. Long black hair was pulled into knots atop their heads, and their bodies were covered with thick wraps and some kind of flexible armor.

 _Foreigners,_ Adam realized. But this was a small kingdom, and his ancestors couldn’t have made such far-reaching enemies even if they’d wanted to. Which meant these were either mercenaries, or men under one of her spells. The delicate roses tucked inside each man’s tunic confirmed the latter.

Adam swallowed roughly, remembering the terrible feeling of an arrow sinking into his flesh. Only a moment later, he shook the thought aside and dashed towards the nearest tree.

The arrows followed him, grazing his fur, slicing through the loose cloth of his shirt. They sunk into the tree’s bark all around him as he climbed, atop the lower branches in an instant.

The man there barely acknowledged him. No fear, no gasp of surprise—only hollow, lifeless eyes staring back at him. Adam, however, didn’t have time to dwell on it. He simply grabbed the man’s arm and squeezed. The bone crunched in his hand, and he let the man fall to the ground below.

Adam felt the bile rise in his throat a moment later. He’d been familiar with his strength for some time, but he’d never used it in this way until now. It surprised him how easy it had been.

 _Better a broken arm than killing him,_ he thought absently, leaping towards the next tree and tossing another archer to the ground. He continued to pick them off like flies, and though the arrows continued to fly at him from all sides, not one struck flesh.

 _Strange,_ he thought absently, falling to the ground and dropping the last archer in the snow. The men lay all around, breathing quietly, no groans escaping their lips. The witch herself hadn’t moved, looking around as if admiring a field of tulips.

“Impressive,” she said. She raised her hand a moment later, fingers sweeping forward. Two dozen more men appeared from the shadows at her command. Their white tunics stood bright in the darkness as they surrounded her. Each held a short, curved knife in each hand and stood completely barefoot, ankle-deep in the snow. Yet they seemed not to mind—no doubt a side-effect of her mind-numbing spell.

 _How many others has she brought into this?_ Adam wondered with regret.

“Meet Nepal’s hidden warriors, Beast,” the enchantress went on. “Truly some of the bravest, most loyal defenders—though, as of yet, undiscovered by the world.”

Adam frowned deeply, searching the men’s eyes. Those orbs held no sign of bravery, nor loyalty—no doubt washed away by her terrible, enslaving spell.

Adam felt the growl in his throat, felt his heart surge with anticipation for the fight. He wasn’t backing down yet. Two dozen men and twice as many knives wouldn’t stand between him and the terror that threatened everyone he loved. He’d fight off a thousand of them to keep Belle safe.

As the men swarmed him, it became clear that just this small troop would be plenty challenge enough. The knives swept near his chest, gleaming bright in the darkness as he batted them off. But these soldiers were quick—impossibly quick, it seemed, make swipes near his flesh before jumping immediately from his range. They seemed to dance all around him, never actually cutting him but tearing through his blouse with each strike and leaving it hanging in shreds.

Adam roared, his frustration echoing off the still forest around them. What use was strength against the years of training these men no doubt possessed?

Sweating, panting, Adam did eventually start to down them one by one—though something told him they were only letting him. Throwing a paw into the last warrior’s chest, Adam finally stood tall, exhausted. Yet when he turned around, another soldier had taken his place.

Adam looked up into the man’s pale eyes. Yes, _up,_ for the man towered several inches over him. He wore a massive, fur-coated helmet that made him seem even taller than he already was. The rose in his cravat was in full bloom.

Adam heard more boots in the snow, looking up and gasping in shock. Dozens more of these enormous men were emerging onto the snow, stepping straight from pond that bordered the clearing. It surface was coated in ice, reflecting the stars above.

“Potsdam’s Giants,” the enchantress explained as the men formed a uniform line before her. “The Prussian king really has quite the obsession with creating this unit—many are the product of recruiting the nation’s largest men, forced to bear children with their tallest women. Yet despite years of preparation, the poor souls never have had a chance to see combat.” She paused, grinning. “I thought I’d do them a favor and give them that chance now.”

The soldier before him pulled a giant musket from his back. It held a jagged, razor-sharp bayonet. The men behind aimed their own guns straight for Adam’s heart.

Adam breathed heavily, breath forming clouds in the cool air, forcing himself to think. There was no way he could break past these men alive—at least, assuming they were trying to kill him.

And something told him they weren’t.

He stepped forward, heart thundering in his chest, letting the giant soldier swing the bayonet. Adam watched, heart in his throat, as it passed straight over his head. Releasing a breath, he took the opportunity to charge at the others.

They fired at once, deafening him for a moment, smoke filling his lungs. Yet not a single bullet found its mark. Hurling himself through the troop’s line, Adam raced towards the enchantress, threw one heavy paw behind him, and swung with all his might.

Something caught his wrist—something solid, strong, and immovable. Adam looked down, eyes growing wide at what he saw. The enchantress held him in one small, delicate hand. Her red lips grew into a smirk beneath the hood.

He was in the air in an instant, tossed aside like a rag doll. He landed hard, rolling twice and falling to a rest in the snow once again.

“How…” he gasped, pushing himself onto his knees. His shoulder was throbbing where he’d landed on it.

The enchantress just laughed, waving the remaining men away. “You really think I’d create something stronger than myself?” she asked. “I’m not a fool.”

Adam stared at his paws, still buried in the snow. _She’s been toying with me,_ he realized. He looked up at the Prussian soldiers, now disappearing into the trees. _She never even needed these men. She’s still manipulating me, even now._ And it had worked—she’d given him the chance to fight, worn him down slowly…then shown him just how powerless he really was.

Of course he couldn’t best her. _He_ was a fool to think he could.

And what was he going to do now?

“Are you finished, Beast?” she asked, examining one long nail. “Really, so much fuss. I only wish to talk.”

Adam stood slowly, clothes in shreds, hands in tight fists. He didn’t answer.

“You must be tired of that body,” she began casually, looking back at him.

Adam only frowned, the corners of his nose curling in rage and humiliation.

“Well, fortunately for you,” she went on. “I’m here to offer you an end to this curse.”

He frowned further, a growl in his throat. “What are you talking about?” he snarled. “You’ve been trying to _stop_ me from breaking it!”

“Oh, no,” she said softly, bringing her hands out in front of her in a sign of peace. “No, you have it all wrong. I’ve always wanted you break it.”

Adam blinked. “What?”

“It’s true. You were meant to break it from the beginning, dearest.” She paused, voice growing dark. “Just not with _her.”_

“Not with…” Adam stopped, huffing in irritation. “Stop toying with me, witch! I’m not a child anymore.”

Her smile, just visible beneath the cloak, became an unnerving grin. “No,” she said, pulling back her hood and stepping forward. “No, you are not.”

Her long, white-gold hair fell in waves to her waist, the cloak falling away to reveal a tight red gown that shone unnaturally bright in the darkness. Her face was young, younger even then when she’d first appeared to him, and she had a body to match. She smiled, lips red and full, moving before him in an instant and resting a hand on his chest.

Adam staggered back in alarm. “W-what are you _doing?”_

“Not your type?” she asked lightly, before raising one finger in the air. “Oh! That’s right. You like brunettes,” she grinned, touching the tip of one finger to her temple. Her hair seemed to flutter of its own accord, brown color seeping from roots to tips like paint.

 _“Ugh!”_ Adam cried in disgust, a terrible realization flooding over him at once. “You meant…you meant for me to break the spell with _you?!”_

“Well, I had always wanted your father. But you were a suitable replacement.” She smiled again, licking her lips. “A very suitable replacement.”

Adam shuddered, bringing his paws to his temples. If he felt sick earlier, the feeling was tenfold now.

“I know what men want, Prince Adam,” she went on, moving towards him on silent feet. “Power, wealth… _sex._ I could give it all to you.”

“Get away from me!” he shouted, staggering backwards and bumping into one of the great trees lining the clearing.

“Just _imagine_ it,” she went on, voice dripping like syrup against the open air. Her appearance shifted, brown waves curling into tight ringlets of red, face forming anew. “You could have any woman you desire.” She changed again, hair growing short and black as her body narrowed. “A different girl each _night.”_

“I don’t want that!” Adam cried in terror, paws scrambling for the trunk behind him and pushing him away so he could move further back. _I just want Belle,_ he thought, a strange, foreboding sorrow washing over him. Though he wanted her as far from the enchantress as possible, another part of him wished for Belle to be with him right now.

Because in all truth…he was scared.

And, strangely, it was in that moment he thought of Gaston. The man who’d stalked Belle from her youth, abused and threatened her to get his way—and somehow still expected her to want him. Adam looked back at the enchantress, so sure she could sway him despite all she had done. God…this woman wasn’t so different from Gaston, was she?

Adam shuddered. He had always sympathized with Belle, felt immense anger towards the Gaston for what he’d done to her…but had never _imagined_ he’d be on this end of it too. He felt…gross. Gross, and terrible.

He shook his head again, in utter disbelief at what was happening. “How could you ever expect me to be tempted by the person who cursed me and my household?” he asked. “Who took my father away? Who _murdered_ my mother?!” He paused, breathing heavily. “…Are you _insane?”_

She only shook her head, resting two hands on her hips. “Jumping to conclusions—just like your father,” she tut-tutted. “No, love. Your dear Maman isn’t dead.”

Adam’s heart seemed to stop. “…What?”

“It’s true,” she went on softly. “And I can bring her back. Bring them _both_ back.” She produced the palm-sized mirror once again, letting it fall in the snow. It grew in an instant, creaking as it did so and falling heavily against an adjacent oak. “And things…” she breathed. “Things can be just as they should be.”

Someone appeared in the mirror then. After a long moment of hesitation, Adam moved closer, and so did the figure. It was a man, standing in the snow-covered landscape within its depths, his head reaching near Adam’s shoulders. He was lean through the middle, yet broad-chested and well-built, with a head of long auburn hair and a strong nose and brow.

“Papa…” Adam rasped, reaching out and resting a hand on the mirror’s surface. His father did the same, their fingers meeting as one. He looked back, bright blue eyes staring up at him.

Adam gasped. His father’s eyes were brown, not blue.

“Handsome, aren’t you?” a familiar voice spoke from beside him, though he barely heard it.

 _That’s…me,_ Adam realized in shock. He saw the differences now—hair a shade darker and a bit redder; chin more square, the angles softer than his father’s. Adam reached up to touch his own face, the reflection doing the same. He could feel his fur, his fangs, yet the young man in the mirror had neither of those things.

A couple appeared in the mirror behind his human reflection. They stood further off, clasping hands. The woman’s bright blue eyes watched him for a long moment, before a warm, familiar smile washed over her face.

“M-Maman,” Adam choked out.

The man beside her nodded at him, wrapping an arm around the queen’s shoulders. His father. Adam turned around in hopes of seeing them behind him, yet the forest was empty as ever. He turned back, reaching for the glass again and willing it to let him through. It remained hard as stone, so he simply watched them, unable to tear his eyes away.

Someone else appeared then, stepping into the reflection and drawing close. Belle looked at Adam’s human form, weaving one arm through his as her other hand swept over his chest. The illusion was enough to make Adam’s heart race, his breath catch in his throat.

“You can have everything you want. Your family, your body…even her,” Belle spoke. Adam was too distracted to think what that could mean, watching as Belle reached up in the mirror, fingers grazing his fleshed cheek. Adam could have sworn he felt it, looking away from the reflection to his side.

Belle really stood beside him, there in the center of the dark forest.

 _“Belle,”_ he gasped. “What are you—”

She looked up at him then, eyes red as blood.

Adam bristled, pulling back in an instant, stumbling into the snow. _“No,”_ he rasped, backing away.

“Yes, Prince Adam. I _can_ be her,” the enchantress spoke through Belle’s stolen voice, following him on silent feet. “I can be _better_ than her.” She sucked in a breath, and in an instant her lips grew full and bright, breasts filling out as her waist narrowed unnaturally, hair flowing to twice its length and thickness. The pretty freckles across her nose disappeared, and that one wavy strand of Belle’s hair that never seemed to stay in place suddenly tucked itself out of sight. She hadn’t changed forms completely—still recognizably Belle, but at the same time, it wasn’t Belle at all.

Adam looked away, gritting his teeth in anger. “How… _dare_ you,” he snarled. He felt his arms tremble, felt his fists clench against his side. “How dare you defile her form in such a way. How dare you think you can be even…even a _sliver_ of what Belle is!”

The enchantress seemed to falter, the false features disappearing so that she returned to Belle’s true form. “But…I _am_ her…”

“No, you’re not. Belle isn’t Belle because of what she _looks_ like,” he said. It felt like the most obvious statement in the world, yet the enchantress seemed confused by it. He raised a brow. “…You really think that’s all I care about?” he asked in surprise.

The witch only blinked, her hair starting to lighten again, Belle’s face already unrecognizable as she shifted back to her original form. She opened her mouth, then closed it again, for the first time at a loss for words.

And suddenly, everything made sense.

“You don’t even know what love is…do you?” Adam asked quietly.

She bristled, cheeks flaring in anger. “I know enough!” she shouted. It was too dark to be sure, but it seemed that tears had formed in the corners of her eyes.

“No. You know nothing,” Adam said firmly. He brought a paw to his head, and despite everything, a short, bitter laugh escaped him. “It all makes sense now…everything you’ve done. Everything you’ve tried…” He stopped, shaking his head. “No wonder you’ve failed.”

“I…I can still kill her!” she cried, though her voice faltered.

Adam narrowed his eyes, suddenly unconvinced. The enchantress had known about Belle for weeks, if not longer—yet hadn’t harmed her. She’d even appeared to Belle in the middle of the night, yet hadn’t led her off the edge of a balcony in her sleep, or even to the wolf-infested woods as she had his mother. Why?

“You can’t hurt her,” he realized, staring absently at the ground. He looked up slowly. “Somehow…the spell is stopping you from harming Belle, isn’t it?”

She barred her teeth, hissing in the quiet night air.

An immeasurable relief washed over him. Relief, and confidence. “I’m going home, and I’m going to tell Belle I love her,” he said with conviction, standing tall. “We are going to break your heartless spell, give my friends back their lives, and be done with you forever.” He turned to leave, then paused, looking back over his shoulder. “You’ve failed, witch. Be gone.”

Behind him, the enchantress’s heavy, angry breathing filled the cold night air. “I haven’t failed _yet,”_ she spat.

Adam turned back slowly, frowning as she threw out her arm and slapped it against the mirror’s large surface.

“Perhaps the girl is beyond my reach,” the witch snarled. “But those she loves are _not.”_ The reflection changed yet again—this time, showing a dark room with a single bed. Someone lay there, asleep it seemed, while another figure stood in the shadows beside them.

The witch tut-tutted at the image, looking back at Adam. “Poor man,” she drawled. “All alone in Paris.”

Looking back at the mirror, she made a sharp motion with one hand. The lurking presence inside moved at her command.

“His dear wife, gone from this world,” she went on.  

The standing figure stopped beside the bed, pulling an arrow from his quiver. _Another archer,_ Adam realized, watching in a nervous confusion. As though reading his thoughts, the archer rolled the sleeping man over so that he was facing them.

Adam’s heart flew into his throat, recognition sweeping over him in an instant.

“Perhaps,” the enchantress went on, grinning wickedly. “...Perhaps he would like to join her.”

“No,” Adam croaked, starting to panic. He ran towards the mirror and threw his shoulder against it, yet it was as solid as before. He could only pull back, watching in horror as the archer cocked the arrow in his bow. “No!” Adam cried desperately. “No, _please._ Belle can’t lose him too!”

 _“I_ don’t care,” the enchantress said heartlessly, raising one arm high in the air. The archer pulled back, aiming the arrow straight for Maurice’s heart.

“Please, I’ll do anything!” Adam shouted. His voice was harsh, echoing off the cold forest floors. He gripped the edge of the frame, gasping for breath. “… _Anything.”_

“Anything, hmm?” she asked. She stopped, voice growing low and cold. “Even _give her up?”_

A crushing weight seemed to fall on Adam’s chest—a sudden, cold _dread_ as he realized what was coming.

“It’s either you or him,” she offered, eyes narrowing. “You decide. Which man will Belle keep in her life?”

Adam’s hands slid down the mirror’s golden frame, and he fell to his knees in the snow. “H-her father,” he choked out, paws trembling against the earth. “…She keeps her father.”

The enchantress lowered her arm, her terrible presence now towering above him. “Very good.”

* * *

Belle’s fingers brushed the books along the wall, lingering on the hidden, painted lever before pulling away. She bit her lip hard, turning back towards the dark room. The yellow gown was draped over a chair by the hearth, the small fire making it glow orange in the darkness. She’d realized, belatedly, that she’d come back without asking anyone for help removing it. She had managed on her own, though with no small difficulty, tugging at the interlacing ribbons along her back, hands trembling with nerves as she tried to understand what had gone wrong.

For something had _definitely_ gone wrong.

She paced the room for the tenth time now, stopping before the hidden passage once again. Sucking in a breath, she sighed in defeat, turning back towards her bed. She tucked herself in the covers, breathing in their scent. They still smelled like him from the night before, though she was certain he wouldn’t be joining her again tonight.

Adam was going to say something, something important. But then he’d stopped. What had made him so nervous? And more importantly…why had he then grown so cold?

She chewed the inside of her cheek now, tasting blood. _Calm down. He said he was feeling ill, remember?_ she told herself. And why would he lie about that? Adam _never_ lied.

She lay there for a long while, worrying about how sick he might be…worrying he wasn’t really sick at all.

 _Perhaps I’ve been too eager?_ she wondered. She _had_ overheard some things in the village, peeking over the edge of her books and listening quietly while the triplets planned their next plot to secure Gaston for themselves.

_“Better to play hard to get.”_

_“You don’t want to scare the men away.”_

_“No one likes a forward woman.”_

Belle snorted to herself. Ironic, coming from those three. She sighed, shaking her head, realizing she was being foolish. What she had with Adam…it wasn’t some game. It was real, and the two of them had never been ones to skirt around the truth before.

Still…Adam _had_ looked terribly nervous. She’d thought at first he’d seen something in the trees, but maybe that wasn’t it at all. Maybe he’d simply begun to second guess things about…well, about where things were going between them.

 _Where **are** things going between us? _Belle wondered. She thought back over the night, to all the wonderful and warm moments together. _Very_ warm moments together.

Belle flushed, covering her face in her hands despite being alone in the darkness. She curled up into herself, recalling the way Adam’s fingers had brushed down her neck, how he’d caressed the skin beneath her sleeve. She sighed, feeling things…wanting things she’d never realized she’d wanted.

 _Maybe that’s what he’s worried about,_ part of her wondered. She pulled her hands down, rolling onto her back as she thought. _Maybe he’s still worried about what he is. About…what we could be together._ He’d barely come around to the idea that he was still human—at his core, at least—a few short months ago. And he’d only recently accepted himself as a prince again, dethroned as he was. Perhaps the idea that he could live even a semi-normal life was still more than he could comprehend.  

Imagining a normal life with _him_ though…well, that wasn’t hard for her.

It would be a sacrifice, of course. For one, they’d be trapped here—for even if Adam could leave, the outside world could never understand him as he was, or what they had together. Nor could Adam kiss her, touch her in all the ways a human could. And whatever they decided regarding their intimacy, Belle had a feeling children wouldn’t be possible.

She flushed, realizing where her thoughts had led. _Am I really thinking about…about marrying him?_

 _Well, where else did you think this would lead?_ another part of her countered.

And so Belle let herself think about it, let herself imagine what might be. She saw herself in a white veil, kneeling beside him at the chapel’s grand altar as they made the greatest vows of their life. She imagined lying with him each night, his gentle hands caressing her skin. She imagined visiting the fair each year and bringing home a wagon full of new books they could share, spending their evenings curled up together beside the fire. And maybe…maybe one year she could visit the orphanage in Saint Amand and bring home a little one who needed them. The thought of Adam holding a child… _their_ child—

Belle brought a hand to her chest, heart bursting at the thought of it all. This was all she wanted. _Adam_ was all she wanted. And finally, she couldn’t ignore it any longer.

“I love him,” she whispered to the darkness.

The quiet air, of course, didn’t reply, but Belle didn’t care. A wide smile tugged at her lips, never recalling a time she’d ever felt more wonderful and warm.

Something tapped the edge of the bed then. Max tucked his nose under the covers, and Belle turned to face him. “Max,” she said excitedly. “I love him!” He licked her face, and Belle laughed lightly as she gave him a squeeze.

Of _course_ she loved Adam. How long had it been? Every novel she’d read made love seem like some grand, momentous event—yet for her, it had been gradual, though no less powerful. Powerful and _peaceful,_ all at once. 

Well…however long she had loved him, tonight she’d finally admitted it to herself.

 _And tomorrow,_ she thought firmly. _I’ll tell **him.**_

* * *

Adam barely registered the image of Maurice’s room growing dark again as he knelt in the snow. Instead, he let his face fall into his hands. He’d had to stop the enchantress from killing Belle’s father—it wasn’t a question—but it still felt no better than if he’d thrust his claws into his chest and torn out his own heart.

He should have thought of this. Of _course_ she would find some way to threaten them. And what could he do about it? Go to Paris and bring Maurice back here? Even without his invisible prison, even without the snow-covered pass or his terrifying form, it would have been impossible to keep Maurice safe. The enchantress could go anywhere she wished, recruit any warrior in this world to her side. And she’d just proved herself ten times stronger than him. God…he really was powerless.

Adam felt his throat grow tight, his chest ache like it hadn’t ached in years. He should have just sent Belle away that first day she’d come. He’d let himself hope…he’d let himself love, in a way he’d never even imagined was possible.

And now it was over.

Beside him, the enchantress huffed to herself. She sounded annoyed. “I had really wanted you to send her away yourself. It would have been so much more satisfying.” She paused, humming to herself for a long moment before smiling once again. “But perhaps you still can.”

“No, no wait,” Adam gasped, looking up in fear. “She can’t go back there alone. Gaston, he’ll—”

“Oh, that’s right. The brute from town?” she asked, waving a lazy hand in the air. She placed her fingers against the glass once again, yet another image starting to fill its surface. “Let’s check on him, mm?”

“No,” Adam said, eyes narrowing in suspicion. “I’ll check on him myself.” He pulled the hand mirror from his belt, letting its cloth cover fall into the snow.

For some reason, the witch’s nose curled up at the sight of it, and she took a step back.

“Show me Gaston,” Adam ordered, ignoring her. The mirror complied, casting greenish shadows across the dark clearing. And there he was—Gaston, curled up in a small, stone-walled space, thick bars trapping him inside.

“He’s…in prison,” Adam breathed in shock.

“Yes. _I_ put him there for you,” the witch said. She sounded exasperated.

Adam only frowned deeper, entirely unconvinced.

“Why are you surprised?” she asked. “I wish the girl no harm. I simply want her back where she belongs.”

 _Belle belongs here._ Adam swallowed roughly. “Can he get out on bail?” he demanded.  

“No bail for this one,” she stated.

“And…and when is his trial?”

“Trial?” the witch laughed. “Your uncle ended those years ago. Prison—or, more often, the work house—is a life sentence for everyone these days.”

Adam clenched his jaw; he couldn’t even contemplate the horror of such news in light of everything else. He sucked in a breath, trying to push away the tumble of emotions and focus. “Is she lying?” he asked the mirror, eyes not leaving the enchantress for a long moment. She looked increasingly annoyed.

The mirror in his hands took a moment to respond, but eventually showed a small child slowly shaking her head.

“Enough of this,” the enchantress said, patience dried up. “Now, listen to me. If you want to keep that pathetic farmer alive, you’ll see that the girl’s gone at first light tomorrow.”

Adam’s heart fell into his stomach. “I can’t…” he breathed. “I can’t just send her away…”

“Oh, I’m sure you can think of some way to persuade her.” She grinned wickedly. “And it will be quite entertaining to see what you come up with.”

“I’ll tell her the truth,” he said, gripping the mirror hard, eyes burning with tears. “I’ll tell her what you’ve done!”

“Careful now,” the witch said seriously. “One thing I’ve learned about that girl is she’s stubborn. I wouldn’t be surprised if she returns with her father in a few months’ time.” She paused, eyes narrowing. “And the moment she steps foot in these woods…the deal’s off.”

Adam imagined an arrow running through Maurice’s heart, his body falling in a heap to the forest floor, Belle sobbing at his side. His chest grew tight, and he stared at the ground.

“Still,” the enchantress continued. “I’ll let you decide. Perhaps she _will_ stay away. You know her better than I, after all,” she shrugged.

_“I won’t leave you.”_

Belle’s words, at one time so comforting, now filled Adam’s heart with fear. Even if she knew the truth…Belle would return. He knew she would.

And suddenly—terribly—Adam realized what he needed to do. He would have rather the witch asked him to jump off a cliff that go through with this.

“You have until daybreak tomorrow,” she said, mirth gone from her eyes. “And you will speak to no one else of this, or the deal’s off. You understand, Beast?”

Adam fought against the sickness in his stomach, feeling much like the small child he’d been when the enchantress had first appeared. Weak, defenseless, useless. He couldn’t stop her from taking his parents, couldn’t stop her from cursing his household…and now he couldn’t stop her from tearing him away from the person he loved the most.

He ducked his head, squeezing his eyes shut in defeat. “I understand.”

* * *

Adam stood behind the stables in the darkness of early morning, bracing himself against the barn wall. He heaved once, twice…then vomited into the dirt.

The remnants of dinner the night before had long been expelled, and his mouth now tasted of the acid that had been forcing itself up during his long, sleepless night. _I can’t do this,_ he thought for the hundredth time, paws quaking against the barn’s splintered walls, knowing he would need to wake Belle soon. He’d thought desperately all night for some way, _any_ way out of this. How he’d wished he could seek help. From Mrs. Potts, Sire Gilles, even old Cogsworth—but perhaps it was better this way. His fault or not, his father’s burden was his responsibility now.

He wanted to tell Belle the truth—oh how badly he did, but for once, the enchantress was right. Belle was loyal, and so wonderfully stubborn. She wouldn’t abandon him if she knew the enchantress had threatened him. She’d try to find a way to protect her father, then come back for him. But Adam knew it was useless. If she returned, Maurice would be dead in a day, and it would be his fault. How could they ever be together knowing he’d been the cause of that? How could he ever live with himself knowing he was the reason her father was dead?

No, there was only one option that didn’t end with Maurice in a pool of blood. And that was to convince Belle he didn’t want her here.

“Adam?”

His heart flew into his throat, hearing her soft footfalls in the snow. It was time.

Adam forced his feet to move back to the front of the stables. There she stood, Max at her side, glancing this way and that in confusion before catching sight of him. She rushed to his side.

“Adam,” Belle breathed, a look of relief crossing her face as she reached for his cheek. “How are you feeling?”

He forced himself to remain still, forced himself not to reach down and pull her close. “Better,” he lied.

She pulled her hand away, fingers curling against her palm. She hesitated, then reached for his paw. “Did you…did you sleep well?” she asked quietly.

“Mmm,” he hummed, trying not to think of the way her hand felt in his. Trying not to think of how it might be the last time he felt it.

“Adam,” she said again, sucking in a nervous breath and staring at their hands. “There’s something I need to—”

“I’m going to bring some more supplies to the bunker this morning,” he said quickly. He stopped, swallowing hard. “…Will you help me?”

“Oh…of course,” Belle said, pulling away and leaving his paw feeling cold as ice. She pursed her lips, then turned and entered the stables. He followed slowly.

“Whose turn is it?” she said as they moved inside, walking towards one of the far stalls. “Biscuit! We haven’t brought you out in a while, how would you like to—”

“No,” Adam said roughly. “No. Let’s take Philippe today.”

“Oh,” Belle said, furrowing her brows and stepping away from the painted mare. “Um, all right.” She moved back towards Philippe’s stall, where the large horse had his head hung into the adjacent stall. Olive was pressed against the wooden barrier, letting the larger horse hang his head over her neck.

“Ah, Philippe,” Belle chuckled. “Did you make a lady friend?”

The horse huffed, looking away as if in embarrassment. Olive nudged him, and he turned back, giving in and nuzzling her long face.

“Don’t worry,” Belle went on warmly, securing his reigns. “You’ll see her again this afternoon.”

Adam turned away, squeezing his eyes shut for a long moment. Then he moved back outside towards the wagon he’d prepared earlier. He breathed in deeply, then pulled the enchanted mirror from his belt. He stared at it for a long moment.

“Protect her,” he told it quietly. “Any way you can.”

The surface changed slowly, almost sadly. Adam saw a deck full of people, waving handkerchiefs to those they loved along the pier below as their ship pulled into the open ocean.

Adam swallowed roughly, wrapped the mirror in a handkerchief of his own, and tucked it carefully among the other things. Then he pulled the cover over the wagon, and glanced at the sky. It was starting to lighten—dawn couldn’t be more than a quarter hour away.

Belle soon emerged with Philippe, and Adam secured the horse to the wagon in silence. Belle stood behind him, chewing her lip.

“Adam…are you sure everything’s all right?” she finally asked.

He nodded slowly. She sounded so anxious, so timid. It made him feel even worse.

“Did…did I do something to upset you?” she went on, wringing her hands together.

It was all he could do not to turn around and tell her everything right there. Instead, he looked away as he spoke. “Let’s talk on the way.”

Belle paled considerably. “A-all right,” she whispered.

They walked to the gates in silence. Belle pulled her hair from her face a half dozen times, wringing Philippe’s reigns ever tighter between her fingers.

 _I can’t do this,_ Adam thought again, looking up towards the tree line. And there she was—that terrifying monster making him hurt the woman he loved. The enchantress watched him with narrow eyes for a long moment. Then she glanced pointedly towards the approaching sunrise, and disappeared.

Limbs quaking, Adam opened the gates and let Belle guide the horse and wagon towards the path. She stopped at the sound of the gate closing, turning back and staring at him with wide eyes.

Adam pulled the key from the bolt, still within the palace walls. The heavy iron gates separated them.

“Adam, what…what’s going on?” she breathed.

“You’ve repaid your father’s debt,” he stated, voice hoarse. “I…I no longer require your services.”

Belle stared at him incredulously. “…What are you _talking_ about?”

He cringed, but went on. “I made a mistake,” he tried, fighting back a fresh wave of nausea. “You—you’re no longer welcome here.”

Belle breathed heavily, a myriad of emotions crossing her face. She turned back to the wagon, tearing back the cover. Her eyes widened further at its contents—her easel and paints, Philippe’s saddle, a case of clothes, several sacks of coin…and the precious books she’d given him, plus several dozen more. Belle shook her head roughly, stepping away and looking back at him in disbelief. “I don’t understand…” she whispered.

Adam only looked away.

“If this is about what you are…I don’t care!” she cried. He heard her move back through the snow, sensed her nearing the gates. “W-we can make this work, Adam. _Please,”_ she pled, voice shaking. “I…I…”

Adam looked back, overwhelmed by her words. She gripped the heavy steel bars, eyes filling with tears. Every fiber of his being wanted to tear open those gates and take it all back, to tell her he loved her and hold her close and never let her go. But instead, he forced himself to turn away once again.

“It’s over, Belle,” he rasped. “Go home.”

“B-but _this_ is my…” She stopped, sucking in a shaky breath. “Y-you can’t…you can’t make me leave,” she said. He caught the sound of two tears dripping in the snow.

_Belle, don’t make me do this._

“I promised Chip I would stay,” she gasped.

 ** _Please_** _don’t make me do this,_ he thought in agony. He glanced at the sky, the sun’s rays growing ever brighter on the horizon. His chest flooded with fear and desperation.

“And the others,” she went on bravely. “They’ll think—”

 _“Am I not the master here?!”_ he shouted, turning back sharply, forcing himself to meet her eyes.

Belle stopped, mouth gaping in shock. Beside her, Max whined in confusion.

“G-get,” Adam gasped, clenching his fists to stop their trembling. He rose to his full height, swallowing roughly. “Get out,” he breathed. He sucked in a breath, baring his teeth and feeling his heart tear open inside him. “GET. _OOOUT!”_

His roar echoed off the trees, monstrous and terrifying, even to his own ears. Max barked once, growled weakly, then fell silent as he pawed Belle’s leg. To Belle’s credit, she didn’t back away. But her eyes did grow wide, and terrified.

Terrified of him.

It was what he wanted. And nothing had ever hurt so much in his entire life.

Belle stared at him for another long, heartbreaking moment. Then she turned away, climbed slowly into the wagon, and picked up the reigns with quaking hands.

“L-let’s go, Philippe,” she whispered.

The wagon moved slowly down the trail, disappearing between the dark trees just as dawn broke over the mountaintops. Adam watched it go, gripping the iron bars, reaching between them towards the shrinking wagon and forcing himself not to run after it.

_I’ll never see her again._

He hadn’t even realized he’d fallen to his knees, yet here he was, staring into the snow. He grabbed at his heart, ignoring the claws digging into his flesh. Then he threw back his head, and cried out.

Had anyone heard, they would think it the sound of a starving, lonely animal, not that of a brokenhearted man. But a man it was.

* * *

“Ah, perfect.”

Gaston snatched the bag from the guard’s hands, pulling out a handful of raw eggs and eying them longingly. He popped one in his mouth, and swallowed it whole.

The guard watched him with a mixture of awe and disgust, then shook his head. “How much longer you be thinkin’ you’ll be here?” the man asked, sounding faintly annoyed. 

“Not long now, I think,” Gaston said, downing a few more eggs before turning back towards his cot. The guard behind him sighed, his heavy keys jingling at his belt as he moved back down the long prison hall.

Gaston finished his breakfast, then laid on his back. In truth, he _was_ getting a bit impatient. Had he his own way, he’d have had that hideous beast’s head by now and Belle in his bed. But if that magical lady was offering to hand Belle over to him herself, well…that might just make things easier.

Something bright flashed in the dark cell then. Gaston sat up, looking towards the source. The small wash basin glowed, then faded quickly. He hurried over, looking into his reflection.

“Hello, Gaston.”

Not his reflection, but the witch’s. He grinned.

“She’s on her way,” the woman spoke.

“About time,” Gaston said, licking his lips in anticipation.

The witch narrowed her eyes. “You remember the plan?” she asked.

“Sure,” Gaston said. “Just keep her in town. Easy enough.”

“That’s right,” she said. “And that’s _it._ Remember, the beast is—”

“Yours. Yeah, yeah, I get it,” Gaston said absently.

The woman in the dim reflection nodded, then disappeared.

Gaston waited until she was gone, then hollered for the guard. The man came a minute later, raising a brow. “You ready to leave?”

“Sure am,” Gaston said, waiting for the man to unlock the cell and let him out. Not that he couldn’t have torn the door open himself had he wanted to.

“So, er…did ya get the experience you were after?” the guard asked. He still looked as bewildered as when Gaston had shown up two days before.

“I guess you could say that,” Gaston said. In truth, he hadn’t a clue why he’d needed to be here—but if it made that witch think he was playing along with all this, then so be it.

The guard shook his head, but didn’t press the issue as they neared a small closet. The guard looked both ways, then unlocked the door and pulled it open.

“There’s yer things,” he said, nodding towards the pile of weapons.

Gaston smirked, pulling another sack of coins from his vest and tossing it to the older man.

The guard grinned a bit, tucking the money into his pocket. “Couldn’t help but peak in the sack,” he admitted as Gaston pulled the quiver over his back. “Can’t imagine what you’d need all those for.”

Gaston chuckled darkly. “Well, let’s just say…I’ve finally found the perfect bait,” he said. “And I’m not gonna let my prey get away from me this time.”

* * *

“Your Highness?”

The sun was high in the sky when the small mantel clock forced his way through the heavy snow. “My lord,” Cogsworth went on. “We were, eh, simply wondering how things went last night—”

He stopped in his tracks, catching sight of the young prince. He lay still as stone near the gates.

“Prince Adam!” Cogsworth cried, rushing over as fast as his small legs could carry him. Pressing two cold, metal hands against the prince’s large form, Cogsworth let out a breath of relief. The young lord still breathed.

“Prince Adam,” he said nervously. “Are you well?”

The young man remained still for a long, quiet moment, then slowly forced his massive form to rise.

“Mrs. Potts was inquiring after the mademoiselle,” Cogsworth went on, clearing his throat in discomfort. “Is…is she here?”

Prince Adam turned back towards the older man from where he sat. The fur on his cheeks was soaked with tears.

“M-my lord!” Cogsworth said with worry, and no small amount of fear. He reached out again, resting one golden hand on the lad’s arm as high as he could reach. Cogsworth was rarely one to show affection, but even he had grown quite a soft spot for the prince after all these years.

He waited, patting the prince’s arm in an awkward attempt at comfort, waiting until the young man was ready to speak. Cogsworth’s worry-prone mind conjured up a dozen terrible possibilities, but could never have guessed what he would hear next.

“I sent her away,” Adam choked out at last.

Cogsworth gaped. “You…what?” he asked in disbelief. “But, my lord, I thought…” Cogsworth stopped. Long before the young woman had appeared, he’d accepted his fate. Of course, her appearance had given him as much hope as the others…yet at the same time, he’d been almost more pleased at how much joy she had brought their young master. Maybe he’d die an old, rusty clock. Of course, he could only speak for himself—but to see their prince send away the woman he so clearly loved…that seemed worse, somehow. Why had he done it?

Cogsworth shook his head, gears clinking in his invisible ears. “My prince, I don’t understand,” he said. “How could you… _do_ that?”

“I had to,” the prince said, staring at the empty trail beyond the gates.

“Yes, but…but _why?”_

“Because…” Adam stopped, looking like he wished to say more. Instead, a look of resolve swept over his face, even amidst the pain. “Because,” he repeated, softer this time. “…I love her.”            

* * *

Quiet sobs filled the forest. Belle had guided Philippe just beyond the palace grounds, but couldn’t bear to go further. Face pressed against the horse’s short, rough hair, she stood on trembling legs and cried. Philippe looked back at her every few moments in concern, while Max nudged anxiously at Belle’s leg, his whines filling the air around them.

Adam had been right—Belle _was_ terrified. But not for the reason he thought.

“O-oh, Max,” she finally managed, looking down at him. “Did you see it too?”

The dog pawed at her leg again, cocking his head.

“His eyes…” Belle whispered, looking back towards the trail behind them. “I’ve never seen them look so frightened.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update - just got a confused review. Remember, they have to declare their love to each other to break the spell! xoxo


	20. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: In the original tale by Villeneuve, the prince was never bad either (though I haven't read the full version myself, so someone correct me on this if I’m wrong). From Wikipedia: “The Beast was a prince who lost his father at a young age, whose mother had to wage war to defend his kingdom. The queen left him in care of an evil fairy, who tried to seduce him when he became an adult; when he refused, she transformed him into a beast.” So, yeah…the enchantress is evil in canon too. I actually didn’t realize all this until I was a good way into writing this story, oops. I just KNEW that lady was bad news! 
> 
> Also a reminder – this story is rated T (or in other words, PG-13), and this chapter is one reason why. I tend to shy away from warnings for spoiler reasons, but I’ve added them at the bottom of the endnote marked with *** if you want to take a look.

“He did… _what?”_

“I'm afraid it's true.” Cogsworth stood before a confused crowd of servants, now whispering nervously to one another. He’d insisted some kind of calm be maintained for their prince’s sake—now tucked safely in the West Wing. Though Cogsworth sensed nowhere was really as safe as they’d once thought.

“But Cogsworth…did he not tell you what happened?” Lumiere asked seriously. “What could have moved him to _do_ such a thing?”

“He would not say,” Cogsworth replied. “Though…I sensed he _could_ not say.”

The voices in the crowd grew more frantic at that. “It was that witch!” one woman cried.

“Aye!” another man added angrily. “’Tis the one!”

“No doubt it was,” Sire Gilles said solemnly, propped upright near the edge of the crowd. “And as such, I have failed my prince.”

“No, Commander, we are to blame,” one of the foot soldiers said bravely. “Somehow we…we let her past our watch—”

“No one is to blame,” someone interrupted. They turned, watching as Mrs. Potts hopped tiredly over. She sighed, staring at the floor as she went on. “We’re facing an impossible power. And I’m afraid we’ll each need to prepare ourselves for what’s to come.”

The crowd fell silent, a terrible realization falling over each one of them.

“Mama?” a small voice asked. Chip had emerged from around the corner, skidding to a precarious stop near his grandmother’s side. “Mama, have you seen Belle? I can't find her anywhere, and I want to show her my new trick!”

The old teapot trembled quietly against the floor. “Love, why…why don’t you go find your father?” she whispered.

“He had to go to back to work, remember Mama?” Chip said. “But he promised to bring home a big sword when he comes home tomorrow and show me how to make one!”

“Henri,” Sophie whispered, standing quietly beside the others. “He won’t understand…”

It was true. The young father knew as little about breaking the curse as Belle did—how would he bear it when his son turned inanimate and lifeless in three months’ time?

Angry murmurs ran through the crowd once again. “The spell should have broken days, if not weeks ago!”  Lumiere fumed, to the heated affirmations of the others.

“Oui,” Fifi said softly, leaning into his side. “They so clearly love each other…”

“You all keep forgetting,” Mrs. Potts said, her own voice laced with regret. “From what the young prince told me years ago, they must both _declare_ their love, and they must both hear it.”

The voices grew angry. “That’s ridiculous!” someone exclaimed. “If they love each other that should be enough!”

“Actually…it’s not ridiculous,” Mrs. Potts went on solemnly.  “It’s peculiar, really. For an enchantress who so clearly misunderstands love, she has designed this spell so that the love that breaks it is quite strong.”

A murmur of confusion swept over the others. “What do you mean, Mrs. Potts?” Cogsworth inquired.

“Love alone is a wonderful thing, but the words themselves hold great power,” she explained. “When love is felt, it should be spoken. We should never let those we love doubt it.”

“She’s right,” Sire Gilles said quietly. The others looked over quickly, but he only bent at the hilt in a short bow. “Excuse me,” he grunted, falling to the ground and rolling silently towards the West Wing.

“Mama, I love you,” Chip said in response to her words, nudging her side in encouragement. He looked back towards the others, in the dark as to their sorrow but sensing something wrong all the same. “I love all of you!”

Someone was sobbing quietly among them, a few sniffles ringing in the quiet air. “We love you too, sweetheart,” Sophie whispered. Her armor was clinking quietly as she trembled, and she slowly fell to her knees beside the others.

“Sophie?” Chip asked, hopping over beside her. Her shoulders were trembling, and he nudged her hand earnestly. “Sophie, what’s wrong?”

Cogsworth moved beside Mrs. Potts, speaking in a hushed voice. “Beatrice,” he started carefully. Fighting against his natural inclination, he rested a golden hand on her lid. “I just wonder, even if he had broken the spell…do you really think that witch would have left our prince alone?”

She shook her head slowly. “I…I don’t know.”

* * *

Adam stood at his balcony, watching the storm slowly roll over the distant hills. Surely he should have felt the cold seep into his skin as the sun’s rays were obscured by thick clouds, but he felt nothing.

He looked over the balcony. It was a long drop to the ground below. For some reason, however, it didn’t seem all that frightening to him anymore. Perhaps that’s what Charlotte felt, at the end.

Some time passed; he wasn’t sure how much. The clouds grew darker with each hour, large and ominous on the horizon. A few eventually inched towards the castle. Yet even as the rain began—large, heavy drops soaking his fur—the prince didn’t move.

“You’ll catch a cold that way, you know.”

He blinked, barely turning to see who was there.

“What do you plan to do with me now?” he asked blankly, turning back to the dark, wet landscape below, never wanting to see this woman again but knowing it was a fruitless wish.

“Why, what I planned from the start,” the enchantress shrugged.

He didn’t turn back, watching the forests disappear beneath the mist. “That’s impossible,” he rasped. “I could never feel anything for you. I don’t even know if I could ever stop _hating_ you.”

“Men can do impossible things when they’re desperate.”

Adam shut his eyes. “I don’t care about my body,” he said, throat dry and hoarse. “I’d rather live like this an eternity then have anything to do with you.”

“And your servants?” she asked curiously. “You would doom them to their deaths, then?”

Adam froze. With everything that had happened…he’d completely forgotten about that. “No, that’s not fair,” he gasped, turning back to her in a panic. The numb void inside was suddenly swept aside by fresh fear. “You…you have to free them!”

She just laughed. “I don’t have to do _anything._ The cutoff is March, mmm? You have a few short months left, Prince Adam. I think you might just change your mind about me, in the end.”

“I can’t,” he gasped, shaking his head between his paws. “I c-can’t…”

“Then they’ll die. And you’ll be trapped as a Beast, alone…for all time.”

He fell quiet for a long moment, sucking in a shallow breath. Then he caught sight of the grounds again, so far below. “…And what if I die first?” he whispered.

The enchantress’s eyes grew wide, watching Adam lean against the balcony once again. “Th-then—then they’ll die with you,” she said nervously.

He turned back, glaring at her. “Don’t worry, I won’t do it,” he said sourly. “Glad to see you’re so _concerned_ for me, though.”

He was bitter, empty, and tired. Only twenty, he felt eighty, limbs heavy and aching. He moved back towards the doors, stopping beneath the awning and letting the strengthening winds dry his fur.

“You know,” the enchantress went on, moving slowly, almost carefully before him. “If you just forget her, that would make things much simpler.” Those red roses were in her hair again, blooming perfectly despite the ever increasing rage of the winds.

“I’ll never forget her.” Adam turned away, back to her and the storm, ducking his head and staring at the puddles near his feet. Her shadow lingered in them, and he shut his eyes. “Leave me in peace.”

The witch’s rippling image remained in the water’s reflection for a long moment, then disappeared.

Adam sighed. She’d be back soon enough, he supposed. For now, he let the air finish drying his fur, too tired to shake himself off, then entered his chambers.

The candles were lit, a fire now roaring in the hearth. Adam blinked, glancing towards the bed where a covered tray of food lay waiting for him. Even after he’d ruined their one chance at freedom, doomed them all to die, they hadn’t neglected him. Why did they care for him so? If it weren’t for him and his family, none of this would have happened to them. He didn’t deserve such loyalty.

Adam moved past the fire and across the room to the old bookshelf where he stood, staring at the rows of shelves. Then with a weak paw, he pulled back the lever and slid it away. He moved silently through the hidden passage, and found himself in the empty room next door. Belle’s hearth was not lit, for all knew she would not be there. Her gown from the night before hung over a chair by the hearth; it seemed no one had found the heart to put it away.

Adam swallowed, reaching out and brushing his fingers over the soft fabric. But it was too much; he gasped, pulling back in an instant and tearing his eyes away. Instead, he dragged himself to the bed, rested a paw on the covers, and laid down reverently. He closed his eyes then, breathing in her smell. For of course it still lingered there.

Gripping the sheets hard, he buried his face in them, and waited for the darkness to consume him.

* * *

Belle dabbed her eyes against her cloak, and took a deep breath.

_I need to think._

Adam was frightened, frightened enough to send her away in such an awful way. Belle knew if he’d really wanted to end things between them, he would _never_ have done it like that. He would have approached it gently, carefully. No, no something was terribly wrong.

And Belle had no doubt about who was behind it.

A flash of light broke through her thoughts. Then another. Belle looked up, squinting against the shadows. Bright green shone against the browns and whites of the forest floor.

“What…” she gasped. It was coming from the wagon, and she moved over in a heartbeat. Pulling back the cover, the light shown bright, flashing violently. Belle had to hold a hand to her face as she reached for the source. Her fingers gripped a thin, carved handle. Adam’s mirror, his only window to the world, was tucked carefully among the other belongings he’s sent with her.

 _He gave this to me too,_ she realized, throat growing tight. She pulled the mirror from the cloth that covered it, and the bright light finally faded as she cradled it in her palms. Belle watched, wondering if it wouldn’t give her some kind of answer to Adam’s fear.

Instead, she saw the last person she wished to see.

“Gaston,” she breathed, heart in her throat. He was hunched over the ground, decked in his brown hunting garb, an enormous bow across his back and several knives lining his belt. She shuddered at the sight of him, hoping he was somewhere far away.

“How could Adam send me back?” she asked, confused, feeling fresh tears well up in her eyes. “I can’t…I can’t go back to Molyneaux, not with Gaston—”

She stopped, watching the mirror change. Once again, she looked at Molyneaux’s greatest hunter. Yet now, he sat in a prison cell, head against the wall and looking utterly bored.

“I don’t understand…” Belle said, trying to reconcile the two images. She frowned deeply. “Is one of them the enchantress in disguise?”

The mirror grew blank.

Belle chewed on her lip for several minutes, puzzling over this strange revelation. What else could it be? Gaston couldn’t be in two places at once—heaven _forbid._

Furrowing her brows, Belle looked up, the sun nearly obscured by the growing clouds overhead. Still, she could just catch a few lingering shadows from the trees. They already inched towards the east—how long had she stood here?—moving imperceptibly with each hour of the day.

She recalled Papa teaching her how to create a sun dial with a fallen twig when she was a small child. She hadn’t believed him at first, and was only convinced after sitting beside the homemade clock all day and marking the shadow’s position each hour—

Belle’s eyes grew wide, a sudden realization washing over her. She looked quickly back at the mirror. “Are you showing me Gaston…at a different time?” she asked earnestly.

The mirror brightened in an instant, showing a bright blue, first-prize ribbon secured to an enormous gourd.

Belle’s pulse quickened. There was more to this mirror than met the eye—more than Adam had ever realized, it seemed. “Can you show me…can you show me us dancing last night?” she tried.

The mirror complied, and Belle watched herself dancing in Adam’s arms. It was strange; strange, but wonderful. But she had more important things to worry about now—this was simply a test.

“Will you please show me what Adam saw last night?” she asked. For now she was convinced he’d seen _something,_ as much as he tried to deny it. “When we were at the peak,” she clarified.

Belle gasped at the response. Men in trees. Eyes of red. Words, ordering him silent.

“No…” Belle breathed in horror. “I should have known…no wonder he was…” She shook her head, trying to calm her pounding heart. “W-what,” she started. “What happened then?”

Adam, leaping through the trees. His shirt in rags, a hundred knives and guns vying for his flesh. Belle pressed a hand against her mouth, tears spilling over her fingers as she watched in horror.

A woman, young and beautiful, moving towards him as he backed away in fear.

The image suddenly darkened, disappearing in a heartbeat. “Wait!” Belle cried. “Please, I still don’t understand—”

She stopped, watching as the image of Gaston returned. The mirror grew brighter than ever before, flashing frantically as she watched the large man, now pulling himself atop his dark horse. He kicked the steed hard, and it neighed frantically, picking up speed and racing through the woods.

Belle’s heart fell into her stomach. “He’s here now…isn’t he?” she whispered.

Max sniffed the air, then growled. Philippe was pawing at the ground as though he sensed something dangerous lurking nearby. The mirror changed again—showing a horse and nameless rider, sprinting full-speed across a barren landscape.

 _Run,_ it seemed to say.

Eyes wide in fear, Belle ran to the wagon, tugging Philippe’s saddle from where it was stored away. She threw it over the animal, hands quaking as she tightened the straps. Then she tucked the mirror in one of the saddle’s side pockets, tugged the wagon straps loose, and threw herself atop the horse’s back.

“Run, Philippe!” she cried. He complied, galloping down the trail, every possession Belle had left in the world abandoned in the wagon behind them. Perhaps she could retrieve them later—but she was far too frightened to care now.

Something in her heart seemed to pull her towards the castle, but she knew she couldn’t return, at least until she knew why Adam had so desperately sent her away. For all she knew, her presence was putting everyone who lived there in danger. She gasped for breath, catching sight of the main road a half mile ahead, trying to decide which way she would go. Beaumont lie only a short ride to the east, while Molyneaux was further west.

 _Beaumont,_ she decided in a heartbeat. _Surely Henri can help me find somewhere to keep hidden until I can—_

Her thoughts broke in an instant, Philippe neighing violently as he reared up.

“Philippe!” Belle cried, barely staying in the saddle as he fell back to his front hooves. He dug at the ground roughly, his breathy snorts billowing in the air.

“Philippe, _steady,”_ Belle said, looking up. And that’s when she saw it—a large, sleek horse standing in the shadows, blocking the base of the trail. Its rider, nearly as large as the horse itself, watching them with a grin.

“Hello, gorgeous,” Gaston breathed.

Holding back a cry of fear, Belle pulled tight against the reins and guided Philippe several paces back. _I can’t go back!_ she realized in terror. _I can’t lead him to the others—_

Gaston dropped to the ground, taking several heavy steps forward.

“Stay…stay back,” Belle demanded, pulling Philippe further away. Beside her, Max barked fiercely, barring his teeth at the man as he approached. “I’ll set him on you if you don’t stop!” she cried.

“Ah, Belle,” Gaston said, as though speaking to a simple-minded child. “You’re confused. That beast—he still has you under his spell.”

“I said stay back!” she ordered, hands trembling as she tugged sharply on the reins.

“Don’t be like that,” Gaston said, pouting but only moving closer. “I’m only here to rescue you from—”

“Get him, Max!” Belle shouted. Max shot forward in an instant, but Gaston stepped quickly aside, swinging a gun from his back in a second and throwing the heavy end of the barrel straight against the dog’s side.

 _“MAX!”_ Belle screamed, watching as he flew into the brush lining the trail. She heard him land hard, whimpering in pain.

“Ha!” Gaston laughed, tucking the rifle back into its holster. He placed his hands on his hips, smirking in victory. “No mutt stands a chance against—”

He stopped, eyes growing wide and looking down slowly. Max was already beside him again, teeth sunk deep into one wide calf. A second later, Gaston screamed in belated agony.

Belle didn’t waste a second, pulling against the reigns once again and urging Philippe off the trail and into the trees. She didn’t dare head towards the road now—no, doing so would only tell Gaston exactly where she was headed. She could only hope she’d be able to find Beaumont without the path to guide her.

“Come on, Max!” she cried. The mutt growled, giving the leg another hard clamp with his teeth before following Belle and Philippe into the trees.

They ran hard, winding through the overgrown forest floor, listening as Gaston’s hollers faded behind them. It wasn’t long before Max could no longer keep up with them, whining in pain as he struggled through the dense vegetation of the deep forest.

“Run home, Max,” Belle gasped, looking behind her. She couldn’t care for him like this, but at least if he made it back to Molyneaux her neighbors would know to take him in.

He looked up at her, panting heavily.

 _“Home,_ Max,” she said earnestly. She caught the sound of distant hoof falls, heart in her throat. He was coming.

Max whined again, but obeyed. Yet instead of heading east, he took off in the direction of the castle. Belle watched him disappear between the trees, desperate to follow, desperate for the safety of the palace. Instead, she looked ahead.

“Run, Philippe,” she breathed, leaning low in the saddle. “Run as fast as you can.”

A deep, menacing voice broke through the trees behind her. “You up for another race, then?” Gaston shouted, voice echoing against the trees, dampened as it was by the growing wind.

Heart thundering against her chest, Belle suddenly recalled that one race they’d had so long ago. A race in her childhood, one that held no risks, only besting Gaston by her knowledge of a shortcut to the great lake. But they were beyond the palace grounds now, and she knew no hidden paths in _these_ strange woods. And this time, she faced a greater risk than ever before.

She snapped the reigns again, praying Philippe could hold out, using the faint shadows of the trees to guide her west. Yet those soon disappeared, clouds blowing in quickly and pecking her cloak with rain. Rain that quickly turned to snow, leaving the forest in silence.

 _Silence,_ she thought in relief, daring a glance behind her. _Did we really lose him?_

She looked back ahead. She could see something through the trees. No—a break in the trees, and a distant house. “We’re almost there,” she breathed, rubbing Philippe’s neck in encouragement. “We’re almost there, Philippe! Just a little furth—”

Her heart flew into her stomach, the ground falling out from beneath them. Then a loud, violent crack, and an overwhelming cold.

The water was up to her waist, to her chest in an instant, but Belle couldn’t hear her cries over Philippe’s own. He fought to move forward, yet the pond was too deep, the ice breaking more with each movement and clashing against their sides. Philippe neighed violently, kicking against the waves, fighting towards the distant shore. Yet the more he fought, the more those thick chunks of broken ice threatened to trap them in place.

Belle spotted the patch of dry land ahead before her vision was obscured by dark waves. It seemed so far, the water so high, and in that instant she felt that dread, that terrible dread for the first time in her life that she was going to die.

_I’m sorry, Papa. I’m so sorry I’ve left you alone._

The water was at her shoulders now, Philippe’s head barely above its surface.

 _Adam,_ she thought then, knowing he was in some kind of danger, knowing she would never find out what. _Oh Adam, I love you, and I never told you…_

Something solid resounded beneath them, and Belle looked up. The shore seemed closer than before, the water retreating quickly. “Good boy, Philippe,” she gasped as he pushed on, hooves finding the floor of the pond beneath them. “Good boy! Keep going, k-keep going.”

The water finally receded, and Philippe pulled himself up, with no small effort, to dry ground. Trembling with relief and cold, Belle slid awkwardly to the ground and wrapped her arms around his neck. “Well done,” she told him. He breathed heavily in response, and Belle rested her head against his side, clinging to him so she didn’t collapse in the snow. “Well done, Philippe.”

In her shock, she didn’t hear the thundering hoof falls as they approached, nor the heavy breathing of the rider until a black horse jumped from atop a nearby ledge of earth and landed heavily before them.

Belle looked up, relief gone in an instant. Her heart fell into her stomach, knowing it was far too late to run now.

Gaston caught her wrist in one hard grip, eyes gleaming in victory. “Nice try,” he smirked. “But looks like _I_ knew the shortcut this time.”

* * *

Belle glanced back towards Beaumont once more before that distant home disappeared from sight. They’d been so close—but it wasn’t enough. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to scream or cry in frustration. Maybe both, though she had little energy to spare for either.

“I should punish you for the way you’ve acted.”

Belle was trembling head to toe, uncertain how much was from the wind biting at her wet clothes, or simply from fear of the man pulling her deeper into the woods.

“Still, you made for a better chase than I thought you would,” Gaston continued. His leg was soaked through with blood from Max’s bite, but it barely seemed to hinder him at all. In fact, his eyes were almost alight, grinning as he went on. “Better then I’ve had in a _long_ time. Though I would’ve caught up sooner if it weren’t for these,” he claimed, yanking open one of the satchels secured to his horse’s side. Inside sat the bags of coin Adam had left in the wagon. “Pretty fine dowry you’ve offered me, Belle,” he grinned.

Belle only scowled. He knew just as well as she it was no such thing. She sucked in another shaky breath before looking behind her. Philippe was following slowly, head down, just as soaking wet as she was. She worried for him; she’d need to care for him soon or he could freeze to death.

 _So could you,_ she thought to herself.

Up ahead the trees parted to reveal a large, open clearing that ended at a steep cliff side. A pile of felled trees lay nearby, their stumps now spotting the open patch of earth. A manmade clearing, then. Belle frowned deeply, but soon caught sight of a fire up ahead. It sat just beside the cliff’s edge; a strange place for one, as it would expose the flames directly to the wind. Belle shook her head. It was _fire_ —provided by her captor, yes, but a source of heat all the same. She shivered violently. Suddenly, nothing else seemed to matter but getting warm.

Yet they didn’t head for the fire right away. “I guess it isn’t your fault he’s turned you against me,” Gaston admitted, dragging her in a convoluted path around the trees lining the clearing. “I _understand_ Belle—I’ve had a bit of a run in with this magic stuff myself.”

“I’m not under any spell,” Belle said earnestly. She shivered again.

Gaston paused in his tracks, and seemed to contemplate that for a long minute. “No…no, I think that’s just what you’d say if you _were,”_ he decided, picking up his pace again and winding them between the thinly-spread trees.

“It’s also what I’d say if I wasn’t.”

He stopped again, furrowing his brows. _“Ugh!”_ he cried, pressing his palms against his thick skull. “Stop confusing me, woman!” He looked back down at her, eyes narrowing further. “You know…I like it a lot better when you’re _quiet.”_

His hands were on her shoulders then—like heavy chains, tying her to a terrifying monster. Belle stared at him, heart in her throat as he came closer.

“Yeah…just like that,” he said darkly, leaning down close. His breath was hot against her mouth.

Belle squeezed her eyes shut. _Please stop,_ she thought desperately. _Not again. Please…_

“Heh,” he chuckled after a moment, and she felt him pull away. “No, let’s wait. We’ll celebrate my victory later.”

Belle opened her eyes slowly, but when she did he reached for her again. She gasped, but he only grabbed for the edge of her cloak, tugging it close to his face.

“The creature gave you this?” he snarled, tearing at it harder. Belle grimaced as he snapped it free, watching him fling it into the snow. “I can get you a better one.”

That was unlikely, but Belle could only think of how much colder the air felt now, standing here in only her soaking wet dress and boots. Gaston, of course, didn’t seem to notice her violent shivering. She needed to change her clothes if she didn’t want to grow sick—or worse—but she didn’t dare make such a suggestion in her current company.

“You know,” Gaston went on, “That witch _told_ me to keep you in Molyneaux—”

 _The enchantress!_ Belle realized, eyes growing wide. _I was right!_

“—but see, I just don’t feel right letting a beast like him run free. Other pretty faces like yours might fall prey to him too _.”_

 _“No,”_ Belle said desperately. “He would never hurt anyone. Adam is kind, and gentle, and—”

Gaston guffawed, harsh laughs ringing through the trees. “You gave it a _name?”_

Belle bristled, all the muscles in her arm growing tight as she clenched her fists. “Stop it, Gaston!” she cried, her fear of him suddenly pushed aside by anger. “He isn’t—”

“If I didn’t know you were under his curse,” he interrupted, laughing roughly again. “I’d think you had _feelings_ for him!”

Belle was silent for just a heartbeat. “I do have feelings for him,” she breathed, staring absently back into the woods, heart swelling with conviction. “I love—”

She stopped, no air escaping her lungs. Gaston’s hand was around her throat again, face menacingly close.

“It seems I’m right,” he snarled, nose wrinkling at the corners. “I’ll never rid you of his spell unless I kill the beast.”

Belle paled in an instant, and he released her. “N-no,” she gasped, overcome with a terrible fear. “You can’t. He’s—he’s stronger than you, Gaston!”

“No one is stronger than Gaston,” he said darkly. “And just to make sure…” He stopped, reaching towards the closest tree and tearing a thick branch from its trunk. Then he tossed it casually into the clearing.

Thick, metal teeth flew up from the snow, snapping the heavy branch in two as though it were a twig. Belle flinched, splinters of bark flying all around, the trap’s terrible sound ringing in her ears long after the damage was done.

“Can split a bear’s femur in a second,” Gaston said proudly, moving over carefully and pulling the trap back into place. He covered it with snow once again, then turned back to her. “Best watch your step, gorgeous—one of those could split _you_ right in two.”

Belle’s eyes, still wide from shock, grew wider as she looked back at him. “How many?” she whispered.

“Take a guess,” he smirked.

Belle looked back over the clearing. It looked natural enough—perhaps a few uneven mounds that could have been manmade if you knew what to look for. Of course…Gaston wasn’t just a hunter. He was a trapper.

A rough hand gripped her shoulder. “I _said_ —take a guess,” Gaston breathed, suddenly beside her again.

Belle swallowed hard. “T-ten,” she stammered.

“Ha! Not even close,” he grinned. “See those eight stumps? Each has got five apiece nearby, hidden beneath the snow. Fifty traps—no way he’s getting around that!”

Perhaps at one time, Belle might have reminded Gaston that eight times five was forty, not fifty. Now she only stared across the clearing in terror, wishing she could somehow use his inability to do basic arithmetic to stop this.

“And without any trees to climb, he’ll be forced to cross this clearing. Oh yeah, and that reminds me…” Gaston stopped, voiced growing low and dark. “What’s a trap…without bait?”

Belle’s chest grew as cold as her freezing skin, and she looked back at him slowly. He held a length of rope in one hand, pulled from his belt.

“Don’t worry, it’s just for show,” he smirked, grabbing her arms and pulling her wrists behind her back. She felt his moist breath against her neck, whispering in her ear. “I won’t let him get you.”

Finally, despite her fear and exhaustion, Belle realized something. She didn’t recognize this place at all, hadn’t recognized any of the area Gaston had taken her through to get here. And Adam had shown her his own grounds through and through.

 _We’re beyond the castle’s forest. Adam can’t come here,_ Belle realized, feeling immensely relieved that he would stay safe.

She also felt terribly hopeless and alone.

Belle trembled, barely able to fight back in her exhaustion, finally feeling the tears dripping down her cheeks. She closed her eyes, clenching her fists as they were bound together. She shivered harder with each moment, hoping it was all just another terrible nightmare. Wishing that at any moment now she would wake up in Adam’s arms.

But she never did.

* * *

Adam groaned, blinking. It was pitch black. He frowned, sitting up, feeling his surroundings. A soft blanket, a familiar smell. Belle’s room. And suddenly, everything that he’d wished was a horrible nightmare came tumbling over him again. He let his face fall into his hands.

The castle was abuzz; it must have woken him. Shouts and a violent barking rang out from some distant hall.

Adam looked up quickly. Barking?

He bolted in the direction of the door, fumbling for the handle in the darkness and pulling it open. Even the dim candles in the hall seemed to blind him, but he pushed through it, stumbling into the hall in a daze.

Max was already at the top of the stairs. Catching sight of Adam, the dog ran at him.

“Max,” Adam said, confused, crouching down to his level. “What are you doing here?”

Max collapsed before him, panting dangerously hard, breaths weak and forced. When Adam ran an anxious paw over the animal’s side, he whined in a violent pain. Adam’s eyes grew wide, and he pulled his hand back quickly. “You’re hurt. What—” He stopped, noticing something red lining the animal’s mouth.

 _Blood,_ he realized in horror.

Adam’s chest grew cold as ice. “…Where’s Belle?” he breathed, staring straight into Max’s eyes. “Where is she, Max?”

The dog only whimpered, resting his head on the floor in exhaustion.

“What happened?!” Adam cried. With a trembling paw, he reached for his belt, but found it empty. _I gave her the mirror,_ he remembered, fresh terror washing over him. He stood on shaking feet, pressing his paws against his temples, imagining any number of terrible things that could have happened to her.

“O-oh God…what have I done?” he gasped, looking back down at Max in desperation. “We have to find her. You have to take me to her!”

Max stood slowly, only managing to follow several short paces down the corridor before collapsing once again. Grimacing, Adam reached down, scooped him up, and bolted through the dark halls.

The castle’s occupants cried out as he ran past, but Adam barely noticed, flying through the halls towards the entryway.

“My lord!” someone exclaimed. It was Sophie, standing near the doors, in shock at the sight of him. “What’s—”

“Take him,” Adam gasped, pressing the large dog into her arms. She cradled Max against her, struggling with his weight, head cocking up at her prince in confusion. Adam didn’t stay to explain, however, tearing through the front doors and jumping out into the snow.

Large white flakes were falling, wind ripping through his fur and against his skin beneath. _His tracks,_ he thought desperately. _I need to find Max’s tracks._

He turned, searching the grounds frantically before spotting one remaining lantern hanging along the tall walls. He bolted towards it, tore it from its hook, then sped through the gates. He paused at the tree line, holding out the lantern with a shaky paw. And there they were, Max’s small prints just barely visible in the darkness, already filling in from the fresh snowfall. Adam secured the lantern to his belt in a heartbeat, dropped to all fours, and sprinted with all his might into the dark forest.

The trees flew past in a blur, his legs moving faster than they should have. His mind was awash with images of a dozen wolves, snapping at Belle’s flesh. Images of her lying in her own blood, cold and pale and alone and in some hidden part of these woods. He blinked back fresh tears, pushing harder as the tracks began to fade. _Please…let her be alive. Let me make it in time!_

He cried out then, a terrible force knocking the wind out of him and throwing him to his back. Adam gasped for breath, blinking away stars and looking up.

Claw marks in the trees. The border of his cage.

 _“No,”_ he gasped, standing in a heartbeat and pushing against the invisible force. He could see Max’s tracks on the other side, nearly gone as they were, leading into the darkness. “No, no, no!” he shouted, throwing his fists against the wall, pounding against it until his skin broke open, screaming at the forest beyond. “No! Let me through! _BELLE!”_

The forest, of course, responded with a merciless silence. Adam stepped back, looking around frantically, heart in his throat as the snow fell heavily around him.

 _“There has to be a way around it,”_ she’d told him.

_“Belle, I’ve tried everything.”_

It was true enough—he _had_ tried everything. Everything that wasn’t far too dangerous to risk, anyway. Now though…now he’d risk anything.

Adam looked west, took a deep breath, and ran. A half mile later, he reached the base of the giant sequoia, staring up into its tall branches. Then he jumped up and climbed, ignoring the spindly branches that scratched at his fur, reaching its top in minutes.

Above the forest’s dark canopy, he clung to the sequoia’s high branches with one paw and reached out into the open, stormy air with the other. And there it was—the wall, still as hard and impenetrable as it was at the surface.

And without a second thought, he leapt into the sky.

He clawed at the invisible force, nails scraping against its surface, barely clinging to its side. The lantern at his belt came loose at the force, falling to the ground below. He hung in the air, every other treetop far below him, the forest floor even farther below that. He trembled head to toe, claws aching as they struggled to keep ahold. He regretted letting Lumiere file them down so much the day before.

Breathing in the biting air, Adam climbed, slowly at first, scrambling to find any kind of hold in a wall he couldn’t see. It had a brick-like surface, and he barely managed to wedge his claws into the small grooves along its side as he climbed. The wind grew colder the higher he went, the air even wetter as he found himself submerged in the storm’s low-lying clouds.

He climbed for what felt an eternity. _There has to be a top,_ he thought desperately, limbs aching, gasping for breath as the air began to thin around him. He could see the open sky now, stars glinting above and grey clouds billowing beneath him. The earth was impossibly, gut-wrenchingly far below. He closed his eyes and tried not to think about that; his vision wouldn’t help him find the next hold anyway.

His claws were nearly gone now, worn away by his climb, and blood dripped from his fingers into the depths below. The winds at this altitude were more steady, but strong and relentless. Arms quaking violently, Adam barely held himself in place.

 _Don’t give up,_ he ordered himself. _Don’t you dare give up!_ So with one final push, he reached out once more.

And felt nothing.

Eyes wide, he pawed at the empty air, hand finally resting on a smooth surface above. _I did it,_ he realized in shock. _I really did it!_

Clinging to the ledge, Adam barely managed to heave himself atop. He lay there on his stomach, arms and legs hanging limp over each side, gasping for breath and letting himself rest before the great journey down. He closed his eyes, not daring to look at what lie below him.

He didn’t rest as long as he should have, his elation at his victory quickly erased at the thought of Belle somewhere fall below. The climb back down, however, felt easier. He didn’t know where his newfound strength came from—all he knew was something seemed to be lifting him, keeping his fingers from slipping despite his worn down claws. A force of sorts that seemed to be pulling at his chest, gently guiding him towards the earth below.

Ten feet from the forest floor, he jumped down, landing heavily on his feet then falling to his hands and knees. Something rumbled behind him then, and looked back in alarm. His eyes grew wide.

He could _see_ the wall. And it was glowing.

He watched in shock as each brick, now bright and golden, dissolved in a wave from the sky to the forest floor. Adam raised an arm above his head as the wall shattered into a million shards of light that fell at his feet.

As the last shimmering ray disappeared into the earth, a new feeling washed over him. _I’m free,_ he realized, lowering his arm and looking behind him. The giant sequoia stood just a couple paces away, his own footprints there, but nearly filled in already with the snow that still fell in a constant wave.

His heart skipped a beat. _Max’s prints,_ he realized. _They’ll be long gone by now._

He’d barely fallen into despair once again when that strange feeling returned to his chest. It was almost like…like something tugging at him. Like there was a string tied around his heart and someone deep towards the northwest woods pulling gently on it.

He stood slowly, and took two steps in that direction. The feeling softened, then seemed to tug at him again, harder this time. He didn’t know why, but he felt certain he should follow it. Dropping back to all fours, Adam sucked in a powerful breath, forgot everything behind him, and ran.

* * *

The further Adam went, the more he wondered if he wasn’t going even farther from Belle after all. Yet that strange, invisible string tugging at his chest felt more like a powerful rope now, and he wasn’t sure it would let him turn around had he wanted to.

The trees began to thin, and he soon caught sight of a cliff side. He grew even more nervous at that, imagining the terrible drop on the other side. But then…

 _A fire,_ he realized, catching sight of the small flames between the trees. He bolted at the sight of them, spotting shapes in the distance.

“Philippe,” he breathed. The horse was standing beside a large oak, still as stone, breathing slowly as he stared at the ground. Another horse stood beside him, large as well but of a leaner build, black coat barely visible in the darkness. This one nudged Philippe once, pulled back in hesitation, then nudged him again.

If there was another horse…that meant someone else was here. Adam’s chest grew cold as a sudden, terrible feeling told him who.

The new horse soon caught sight of him approaching, and buckled back in fear. Its harsh neigh rang out in the forest. A deep, dark voice echoed back.

“That didn’t take long, Beast.”

Thick clouds billowed from Adam’s nostrils, his heart filling with fury. _Gaston._ How had he escaped prison?

 _She lied to you,_ he realized, recalling the enchantress’s words. She must have twisted them, somehow. He should have known. Growling in rage, Adam flew through the last of the trees, finally nearing their break, finally seeing who he’d been searching for.

Belle was lying on the ground near the fire, hair tangled in the snow, hands tied behind her back. Her mouth was gagged, her face pale as moonlight.

 _“BELLE!”_ Adam shouted, heart filling with fury and agony at the sight of her like this. “I’m coming!”

She opened her eyes slowly, glancing towards him in a daze. Then her eyes widened, and she sat up in an instant, shaking her head violently from side to side.

Adam stopped dead in his tracks. _She’s still afraid of you, idiot,_ he realized, feeling his heart sink in his chest again. “Belle, I’m so sorry,” he gasped, taking a few careful steps forward. “Before, I…I didn’t mean any of it, I was only—”

He stopped again as she shook her head harder, letting her eyes sweep pointedly over the ground.

Confused, Adam followed her gaze, heart in his throat, only wanting to race across the short distance and strip away those terrible bonds.

But then he saw it. Something glinting near his toes. Something sharp and metal, the tip just barely peeking through the snow where the growing wind had blown it away. He looked around again, and spotted another just a pace away. Grabbing a nearby branch, he reached out and brushed the rest of the snow away.

A mouth of thick, metal teeth emerged, buried beneath the ice. A bear trap.

He’d read about these—sportsmen lauded them for their power in bringing down such great creatures. Yet as a boy, the young prince only thought they seemed a terrible way to die. Leaving an animal to suffer for hours, to wait until they were found and the mercy of the finishing bullet.

He looked back around the open ground, and understood. This wasn’t just some empty clearing—it was a minefield.

Adam heard Belle’s muffled scream then, and looked back up just in time to avoid taking an arrow to the chest. He bounded back behind the closest tree, three more arrows thumping into the trunk behind him and shaking several small branches loose.

“What’s the matter, Beast?” Gaston taunted. Adam heard his heavy boots against the earth, emerging from the shadows near the cliff. Near Belle. “Too kind and gentle to fight _back?”_

Adam growled. _Not on your life,_ he thought in rage. He breathed heavily, trying to think. He had to make it over that clearing, but how? He could try to jump over the traps, but even if he’d been in full strength, he wasn’t sure he could. And getting snagged by one would certainly mean death at Gaston’s hand…and leaving Belle in the man’s full power.

He cast his eyes around desperately. Tall trees surrounded the open space, but weren’t close enough to aid him. It seemed Gaston had even cut back the branches that had once fallen over the clearing, so climbing would do him no good.

He bit his lip madly, eyes sweeping over the woods where he hid. There lay a woodcutter’s ax, an enormous stack of felled trees, a pile of—

Adam stopped, staring back at those trees, not a pace away. His eyes grew wide.

Behind, Gaston chuckled darkly. “Don’t worry Belle, we’ll have his head mounted on our wall soon enough,” he said, reaching back for the quiver he’d left perched in the snow.

But it wasn’t there.

Confused, the man looked up sharply, finally spotting it near the cliff. It dangled off the edge, several arrows already spilling out and into the darkness. And nearly upon it was Belle, running with all her might, hands still tied behind her back, giving the weapons one final kick and sending them over the edge into the deep valley below. She stopped, huffing, then turned back to him in fierce triumph.

The animal inside snapped, and Gaston trembled in fury. He stormed over, grinding his teeth, breath fuming in the cold night air. He still saw the fear in her eyes, but despite that Belle didn’t back away. She only stood taller, her eyes alight with victory as her hair whipped violently in the raging storm.

 _“You,”_ he snarled, towering over her, drawing one powerful hand back in rage. “You fucking _bitch—”_

The ground shook, and something enormous dropped between them, stopping his hand. Gaston looked up slowly. Two sharp blue eyes stared down at him, holding his arm in place, growling deeply.

Gaston gaped in shock. The beast was larger than he’d expected…and _much_ larger than he remembered. He looked back towards the clearing, spotting several trees that had been thrown into the space. He snarled; the damn creature must have run across on them. Furious that not one trap had snagged him, Gaston raised another hand to fight him off. But the beast merely batted it away before grabbing the front of his coat and raising him off his feet. Then the monster roared—a terrible, deafening sound that left Gaston’s ears ringing in his skull.

And, not a moment later, the world flew past and Gaston saw stars.

Adam stood, breathing heavily, watching as the brute’s body slammed into a lone tree at the cliff side, sliding slowly down its side and crumpling in a heap. The man lay still for the time being, and Adam exhaled roughly before turning around.

Belle stared up at him with large eyes, breathing just as rapidly as himself. He dropped down quickly, tearing through the rope around her wrists, pulling the gag from her face and dropping it in the snow. She reached for his arms, trembling violently where she stood.

He quickly brushed her hair from her face, damp from the falling snow. “You’re safe, now,” he said softly. Then, without another word, he stood and turned around to ensure she stayed that way.

Gaston was already moving, but had just barely made it to his feet when Adam was upon him again. The man reached for one of knives in his belt, but Adam caught his throat before he could loose it, holding him up and over the dark cliff side. The hunter’s feet dangled in the darkness, and he stared at Adam in terror, gasping for breath.

Adam ignored him, feeling the man’s belt, his chest, his back for weapons. He let several sharp knives fall into the deep gorge below, as well as a bow and a heavy shotgun. Gaston was whimpering now, cringing as the large paw searched him head to toe.

“Shut up,” Adam snapped, tossing one last pouch of bullets into the darkness. “Is that it?”

Gaston stared at him wide-eyed, then nodded earnestly.

Frowning, Adam reached down and felt each boot before pulling out that one long, jagged knife the hunter had threatened him with all those years ago. Adam still recalled this weapon, glimmering in the sunlight as its owner threatened to take home his head. “Want to try answering that again?” he snarled. “Or did you really think I’d forget about this?”

Adam dropped the knife, the last of Gaston’s weapons, into the chasm. The man’s face turned ghost white.

Adam pulled him closer then, letting him see every inch of his sharp fangs. “How does it feel to be on the other side, Gaston? To be afraid?” He narrowed his eyes, lowering his voice. “To wonder what I’ll decide to do to you?”

“P-p-please,” Gaston begged, struggling uselessly to pull himself free of Adam’s grip. “Please, don’t hurt me!”

“Not a good feeling, is it?” Adam went on. He threw back his free paw then, pointing towards Belle, his fur bristling head to toe in rage. “That’s how you made _her_ feel, you bastard!”

Gaston was whimpering again, and Adam wrinkled his nose in disgust. Clearly, the man regretted nothing but the fact that he’d been caught. Scowling, Adam looked at his fingers, wrapped tightly around Gaston’s neck. How easy it would be to loosen them, just a bit, to let this despicable creature fall into the abyss and rid the world of his harmful presence forever. 

_“Please don’t let your anger make you act like he would.”_

Adam felt his heart soften at the memory of Belle’s words; words spoken on a night much like this one, a raging storm outside, though then they laid safe and warm in each other’s arms.

Adam stared at his feet, ignoring the man as he squirmed beneath his paw. Belle was right; he couldn’t kill him, not like this. Even if that’s exactly what Gaston would do to him—no, _because_ that’s exactly what Gaston would do.

Still, that didn’t mean the man was going to get out of this easily.

Gripping Gaston’s neck tighter, Adam yanked him back and slammed him against the icy ground. “What kind of man threatens a woman with starvation, holds her mother’s life at stake just to get his way?” Adam growled. “What kind of man stalks and harasses and _forces_ himself on a woman just because she’s not strong enough to stop him? Y-you,” he went on, trembling in fury. “You make me _sick.”_

“W-well,” Gaston managed, seeming to gain back some of his previous courage now that he wasn’t dangling a thousand feet in the air. “Well, just _looking_ at you makes me sick!” he shouted. “You—you honestly think she’d want a monster like you, when she could have someone like _me?”_

Adam only stared at him, again recalling that summer’s day five years ago.

 _“I’m a person, like you,”_ he’d told Gaston then.

Oh, how wrong he had been.

Adam closed his eyes, suddenly calm and more certain than ever. “You still don’t see, do you?” he said, opening his eyes again and looking back down at the creature in his grasp. A pathetic, wretched creature, defeated through his own arrogance, misogyny, and hate. “I’m not the monster, Gaston,” he said quietly. “ _You_ are.”

Then, without another word, Adam tugged Gaston up and around, wrapping a massive arm around his throat. Gaston fought silently against the chokehold, but went limp in seconds. Adam exhaled deeply, loosening his grip and letting Gaston fall unconscious to the ground.

Breathing deeply, Adam struggled to one foot, and then the other, any strength he had left suddenly gone. He stood slowly, staring down at Gaston’s silent form for a long moment. “R-rope,” he managed at last, turning back around. “Belle, I need rope—”

He stopped, frowning when he saw her. Belle was watching him, eyes glassy, limbs quaking even harder than before. The fire had finally succumbed to the wet, falling snow, submerging them in near-darkness. Belle stared at him for one final, desperate moment—then her eyes rolled into the back of her head, and she fell face-first into the snow.

 _“BELLE!”_ he roared, sprinting over in a heartbeat, pulling her out of the snowdrift and cradling her in his arms. Her clothes were soaking wet.

And then he realized it—she hadn’t been shaking from fear earlier, but from a debilitating cold.

“Oh God, no,” he gasped, pressing one ear to her chest. He heard her heartbeat, though it was slow. Far too slow.

“Please, Belle, w-wake up,” he choked out, holding her tight and looking around frantically, as if someone would come to his aid. Of course, no one did. He looked back down at her, pulling her damp hair from her face, shaking her urgently. _“Please_ wake up…”

The panic was starting to spread over him like a cold wave when that small, quiet voice spoke in the back of his mind. _Calm yourself. You know what to do here._

He stopped mid-breath. As a boy who loved to play outdoors, he’d read every adventure and survival book in the library to feed his eager imagination. But now, that meant he _did_ know what to do. He looked down at Belle’s face, growing paler by the minute. “Belle,” he breathed, pulling off his shirt with a trembling hand. “Forgive me.”

Spreading the shirt between them, he pulled Belle’s limp body upright and facing him. Holding her tight, he found one remaining claw on his thumb. He tucked it beneath her neckline, closed his eyes— and tore through her dress from shoulder to hem.

Adam kept her close, paw against her bare back as he tugged her clothes off quickly with the other and let them fall, wet and heavy, into the snow at their feet. In an instant, he’d pulled the dry shirt over her. Then he opened his eyes, pulled off her wet boots and socks, and tucked her right up against his warm chest.

“Stay with me, my love,” he breathed, holding her tight in one arm and already racing across the fallen trees he’d placed in the deadly clearing.

He passed the place he’d seen Philippe, and stopped. He wasn’t there, nor was the other dark horse who’d been beside him.

“Philippe!” Adam called out anxiously, “Philippe, come on!” Yet he heard nothing. Adam grit his teeth, unable to search for him now, hoping he would find his way home on his own.

Something shifted behind them then. Adam turned quickly, but it was only Gaston. He was slowly regaining consciousness, standing on weak legs and looking around in confusion.

 _“No,”_ the man breathed in fury, catching sight of them between the trees. He took a shaky step forward. “No, you—you can’t have her,” he rasped. He took another step, edging into the clearing. His movements were haphazard, disoriented as he was from being knocked out just seconds before.

Adam’s eyes grew wide, seeing what was about to happen. “Gaston—”

“It—it’s not over, Beast!” the man cried, stumbling towards them. “Belle is _mine—”_

A loud, terrible _snap_ cut off his last words, claws flying up from the snow and claiming their first victim. The hunter, once the greatest of his kind, now ensnared in his own trap.

Gaston screamed in a deafening agony. His blood speckled the bright snow, broken bones torn from their fleshy prison and exposed to the cold air. He struggled against the trap, clawing at its teeth with his fingers, but only managed to set off another. This one took his arm, blood now painting the ground all around at a dangerous rate. Gaston wailed in horrifying pain with every movement.

Adam closed his eyes and turned away. He couldn’t spare another moment for the man—not with Belle as she was. Perhaps he could come for Gaston in the morning and drag him back to the tower…if the wolves didn’t get to him first.

For now, he held Belle tight and disappeared into the dark woods, letting the hunter’s tortured cries fade behind him.

* * *

No invisible force pulled him in the right direction this time, but by now the storm had passed enough that Adam could keep sight of the North Star behind him as he flew through the strange woods. He glanced down at Belle every few minutes, checking the pulse in her neck, breathing warm air against her exposed cheeks. Yet her skin seemed just as pale as before.

“We have to be close,” he said to himself, pushing onward. And soon enough, the trees began to change, to take on more the more familiar shapes of the species habitual to the palace grounds. Adam pushed ever harder at that. His limbs screamed at him, still exhausted from his earlier climb, but he ignored them. _Have to get her home,_ he thought, pulling her closer against him as he leapt over a fallen oak. _Have to get her to Docteur Math—_

Something flashed before him. He nearly stumbled, blinded by its brilliance, stopping in his tracks and holding up his free paw to block the harsh light.

“And _what,”_ someone said coldly, “do you think you are doing?”

Adam swore under his breath, unsurprised as he was by who he saw. The enchantress stood there, bright against the dark forest, staring at him in a quiet fury.  Her hair was straight now, and fell nearly to her knees, unmoving in the lingering wind. “I _thought_ we’d made a deal,” she said, narrowing her eyes.

“Let me…let me pass,” he demanded, still out of breath. He held Belle tight, though he knew the enchantress had no power to hurt her.

“How did you get past my wall?” she asked, frowning deeply.

“I climbed it,” he said impatiently. He made to pass her, but she moved quickly before him.

“That’s…that’s _impossible,”_ the witch said in shock.

“Let me pass!” he cried, racing towards her other side. But she simply grabbed his wrist, tossing him back.

Adam stumbled to his knees, arms quaking as he pulled Belle’s head closer against him. “Gaston was here, he had her and now—now she’s hurt!” he cried in desperation. Then he snarled, remembering her lies. “…This was your doing, wasn’t it?”

“He _what?”_ the enchantress said in fury, clenching her fists and bristling head to toe. “Damn fool! Can’t even follow one simple order. Bah!” she huffed, grinding her teeth and looking away. “I should have known he’d want your head. Looks like the brute was smarter than I thought.”

 _“Please,”_ Adam begged, growing ever more desperate. “You have to let me pass! Can’t you see she’s sick?!”

The witch crossed her arms. “And how am I ever going to get you to forget this woman if I let you run off any time she’s in trouble?”

“There’s no time!” he shouted, shaking his head and gasping for breath. “She could die!”

“Precisely,” the witch said. She stepped forward, eyes narrowing, staring down at Belle’s unconscious form in his arms. A small smile tugged at her lips. “See, she dies, and I have exactly what I want.”

Adam eyes stung in grief, trembling where he stood. “W-why,” he whispered. “Why can’t you just let us be? I-I…” he gasped, sucking in a painful breath. “I never did _anything_ to you…”

Silently, almost imperceptibly, the enchantress furrowed her brows. Though she spoke not a word.

Adam swallowed, knowing it was useless. This woman had no heart, no bone of compassion in her body. The only thing he could do was try to give her something, _anything_ that she wanted. “Please,” he said, looking up at her slowly. “Just tell me what to do. I’ll do it—whatever you want. You know I will.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “You already know what I want, Prince Adam.”

He looked back down at Belle, brushing a thumb across her temple. “I…I can’t love any but her. Even if I tried to…” He stopped, shaking his head and looking back up. “It would be fake. It would be forced. Would that break your spell?”

The witch pursed her lips, fists clenched in frustration. At last, she exhaled roughly, looking away. “No. I suppose not. I admit that much now.” Frowning deeply, she glared back at him, waving a brisk hand in his direction. “Go ahead—confess your love. Break the spell with her. Frankly, I don’t know how to get you back to your true form if you don’t, and I certainly don’t want you as you are.”

Adam’s heart skipped a beat. Would she really let them go so easily?

“But,” she went on, narrowing her eyes. “You must make me a promise if you do.” She cast a hand forth, glowing in the dark air. The light fell to the ground like a chain, piling high in the snow. Then it crawled along the icy forest floor, inching slowly towards him, clinking like metal in the still air. Adam’s eyes grew wide, and he stepped back in alarm.

“I plan to rule this kingdom, and any others I see fit,” she said. The chains surrounded him now on all sides, inching towards his feet. The witch narrowed her eyes. “And you, dear prince, will swear to stay by my side, doing exactly as I say,” she breathed darkly. “As my husband.”

Adam’s heart grew cold. He backed up against the tree behind him, chest in knots, holding Belle close like a lifeline.

 _Belle._ He looked down at her again, and remembered. Remembered what she’d told him, not a week after she’d come here. Remembered the fear in her eyes as she’d admitted it in a quiet whisper.

_“The night before Papa returned with the gold…I’d resolved to accept Gaston’s offer.”_

She’d been willing to marry the man she feared most, to give up her life and her freedom to try and save her mother. Could he be as brave as her?

“Well?” the enchantress asked sharply, tapping her foot in impatience.

He was silent for a long moment. “My household,” he said at last.

“Yes, yes. They’ll be freed from the curse as well.”

“I mean…they’ll be protected?” he clarified. “When you take over this kingdom?”

She scowled. “Fine.”

“Belle, her father, her friends…they’ll all be protected from you?”

She bristled in irritation. “Fine, fine! Do you agree, then?”

Adam sucked in a slow breath, stepping forward and standing tall before her. He closed his eyes, mustering all the courage in his heart. “You have my word.”

The chains moved in an instant, winding up his legs, his torso, his arms. He held Belle closer, shielding her from the magic, squeezing his eyes shut in fear. Then something formed around his neck, tight and metallic and cold. A moment later, it loosened, and he looked up again. The bright chains faded to black, and disappeared like smoke.

Smiling wickedly, the enchantress lowered her hand. “Done.”

* * *

“My lord?”

The prince sat on the edge of a cushioned chair in the West Wing, too large to fit in its seat. He was hunched over, face in his hands.

Sophie approached slowly, reaching out a tentative hand. “My lord,” she repeated, resting it on his shoulder. “You may go in, now.”

He looked up, as if just noticing she was there. Then his eyes flew to the bedroom doors, and his feet quickly followed.

“The doctor says she’ll be just fine,” Sophie went on in encouragement, following him inside to retrieve a few last things to bring downstairs. “And she…she doesn’t have a fever,” she added, unsure what to say as he remained silent. “She’s already much warmer, too. Mathius thinks she’ll wake within a day.”

He was already kneeling beside his own bed, which he’d pushed up beside the hearth on their arrival. His room had been the only one with the hearth lit at such a late hour—and there’d been no time to light another.

Sophie shook her head, trying to make sense of it all. It was difficult to shake the image of their prince flying through the doors past midnight, crying frantically for help, the woman he’d supposedly sent away that morning wrapped in his own shirt and pale as a sheet in his arms.

Now, he rested a large paw on Belle’s head, gripping her fingers in his other. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered quietly, hand quaking as he held hers.

“Prince Adam, there’s…there’s no reason to feel bad,” Sophie said carefully, wondering if he felt ashamed for stripping away Belle’s wet clothes. She’d already changed Belle in a soft nightgown while Adam waited outside, covering her with blankets after the doctor had checked her over for injury. “Mathius says what you did likely saved her life. I’m certain she’ll understand.”

Adam only nodded, still not looking up.

“I…I can stay with her, if you need to sleep,” she offered. “I’ll wake you if anything changes.”

He shook his head roughly. “No,” he rasped, finally speaking to her. “No…I can stay.”

Ducking her head, Sophie picked up a basin and the prince’s old shirt, starting towards the door. “My lord…” she said nervously, turning back towards him at the threshold. “Everything is all right now…isn’t it?”

The prince was silent for a heartbeat. “Yes, yes it is,” he whispered. “You will all be fine.”

The door shut quietly, and Adam looked back down at Belle’s sleeping face. _At least I’ve gotten to see her…one last time,_ he thought. It was more than he thought possible this morning, after all.

He watched her for a long time, trying to memorize the curve of her nose and each freckle that speckled it; the way her hair fell over her shoulders; her soft, yet strong fingers. Every bit of her he may never see again. Though there was no doubt he could ever forget.

Then he felt it again—something tight and cold, something that seemed to strangle him. He reached towards his throat, heart full of fear, knowing what was to come. Knowing the moment he’d been hoping for all these weeks, the moment they spoke those precious words to one another, would be his last moment with her.

* * *

The enchantress stood in the trees, watching the man writhe in pain against the ground. The fool; the arrogant, reckless fool. If it weren’t for him, maybe her prince would have forgotten the girl after all. She might have him with a binding oath now, but how she’d finally won him felt less than satisfying.

Wolves howled in the distance. No doubt smelling the man’s blood, spread all around him in a puddle of red. He lay there, alone, any animal companion he might have brought having long since abandoned him.

“Help!” he cried out in horror, the howls getting closer each minute. “Please! Someone! _ANYONE!”_

The enchantress finally moved, stepping into his clearing. Unable to touch animals with her magic, she had no plans to be there when the wolves arrived. She hovered in the air, avoiding the primitive traps all around, standing before him and staring into his pathetic eyes.

“You!” Gaston cried, face stricken with panic as he stared back towards the distance cries. “P-please, get me out—they’re coming!”

“You disobeyed me,” she said coldly.

“I-I’m sorry!” he said, pawing at the icy ground with one arm. He bled more at the effort, whimpering in pain. _“Please,”_ he begged. “Help me! They’re almost here!”

“Mm, yes. I suppose I best hurry then,” she said, crouching down to his side. She leaned close to his face, a slow, terrible smile creeping over her face. “For it would be a shame to waste such a strong heart on a pack of beasts.”

Gaston blinked in confusion, then screamed. Her fingers were in his chest, inches deep in his flesh, blood seeping over them and mingling with the rest on the ground below. She licked her lips, and felt the large, bulging heart beneath her fingertips.

Gaston stared at her, eyes flashing with fear and betrayal, unable to utter another sound in his shock. His heart beat faster than a jackrabbit’s in the palm of her hand.

“You’re as good as dead anyway,” she breathed, squeezing the organ beneath her fingers. “So I might as well make it a good feast.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So uuuuuh that was the most violent thing I’ve ever written. Yikes? Not really sorry though, he deserved it lol. One baddie down!  
>  
> 
> *** Chapter rating – Strong T for graphic descriptions of blood/gore, mention of suicide, strong language.


	21. Chapter 20

Adam finished the last stroke of his father’s signature. A poor forgery, but after so long it wouldn’t matter. Dipping the quill back in the well, he held it out to the mantle clock beside him, who was currently ringing his golden hands together.

“My lord…please,” the man said nervously. “Are you certain there is no other way?”

“I called you here as my witness, Cogsworth. Will you sign or not?”

Cogsworth sighed deeply, before taking the quill and gripping it as well as he could manage. He paused over the long scroll of parchment, then reluctantly penned in his name.

A small tapping came at the door then. “Enter,” Adam said. His words felt hollow and empty, like they weren’t even coming from his own lips. Ignoring that, he watched as the castle’s commander rolled slowly into the large office.  

“Gilles,” Adam said. “What did you find?”

The swordsman propped himself upright at the foot of the small writing desk. “Nothing…recognizable, my lord,” he said solemnly. “It seems the wolves found him long before we could.”

So Gaston was dead. Strangely, Adam felt nothing at such news.

“My lord,” Gilles went on. “I cannot let you stand by and do this—”

“I’ve already told you. What’s done is done,” Adam said roughly. “It was the only way to save Belle’s life, the only way free everyone and keep you all safe.”

“And what of yourself?” Gilles said. Emotion laced his voice, something rarely heard from the man who had maintained his poise amid dozens of battles and attacks over the last half century. “Please, my prince. Let us fight her,” the commander went on. “With the spell broken, we will have our forms once again. We will stand a chance!”

“Gilles—”

“I have served this family since my youth,” Gilles said fiercely. “I cannot abandon my allegiance to you now!”

Adam closed his eyes. “If that is true,” he said quietly. “Then you will obey my order now. Protect these people, and protect Belle.”

The sword seemed to tremble with frustration, remaining silent for a long moment. “As you wish, my lord,” he finally rasped.

Nodding, Adam looked back down at the document in his hands. Under the guise of being signed by his father a decade earlier, it declared a large sum be distributed to each member of the household in the event of his death. Such a statement would justify more money than they could each carry when they escaped this place. Perhaps the document wasn’t needed, but he wouldn’t have the money confiscated due to lack of proof.

A separate document lay beneath this one, indicating the purchase of several of Maurice’s inventions. A lie, of course, but no one could prove otherwise. It left Belle and her father enough to live off for the rest of their lives, enough to give Belle a real education…and enough for a handsome dowry, should she need it. Adam’s throat grew tight at the thought, but he wouldn’t leave her alone in this world without such protection.

“Gilles,” he rasped, looking back up. “The enchantress promised me everyone’s safety, but I doubt that extends to the threat of my uncle. As soon as you can, take everyone and leave the palace.”

“…Yes, my lord,” the man said quietly.

The sorrow, the dread of everything was overwhelming him once again. Adam clenched his fists as he stared at the old wooden desk. “Thank you for everything,” he whispered to the two of them. “I’m sorry to leave you to relay this news to the others. But I don’t think I can bear to tell them myself.”

At his feet, Gilles cursed roughly, already rolling away. Cogsworth rested a cool, metal hand against his arm for a long moment, then hobbled slowly out of the room. Adam squeezed his eyes shut, waiting until the door shut and he was alone once again.  

Then he pulled out a fresh parchment, picked up the quill, and started one one final page.

_My dear Belle…_

* * *

“Oi, Henri!”

Henri tugged back on the reins, slowing his horse to a stop and looking up. One of his neighbors was waving at him, motioning him towards a small stable. Hopping out of the old wagon, he hurried over.

The man rubbed the back of his head as he approached. He was a tall man, with dark black hair pulled into a tight ponytail and broad, thick shoulders. “Sorry to bother ya on your way out,” he said, pulling open the barn door and leading Henri inside. “We just got a, um…bit of a conundrum.”

Henri frowned, looking around. Before the man could explain, he caught sight of a large brown workhorse covered in a thick blanket.

“Hey,” he said, moving over. “Phoenix, is it? No, no… Phineas?”

The horse only stared at the floor, and huffed.

“Philippe?” Henri tried, and at last the horse looked up at him. “Philippe! That’s the one. What’re you doing here, boy? Where’s Belle?”

His neighbor moved over beside him. “Thank goodness. Been askin’ everybody who passed, but no one seemed to know who he belonged to. Him and the other horse wandered into the yard while we was all sleepin’ last night. Set the animals into a frenzy—thought a wolf had gotten into the shed.”

Henri ran a hand over Philippe’s neck. “The other horse?”

The man nodded towards the end of the stables. A dark black horse stood there, padding nervously against the ground. “Won’t let me near it. Would only let the girls get close.”

Henri hummed. He didn’t recognize this horse. And he’d already replaced the shoes for each of the prince’s horses, so it didn’t come from the palace. “I don’t know who that one belongs to,” he admitted. “But if they came together, I can probably figure it out.”

His neighbor hummed. “Good luck getting close enough to try. I’m glad this one would let us near, at least. Was half frozen when he showed up. Been keeping a kettle on all night to try and warm him up.”

Henri looked back at Philippe’s own trough, filled to the brim with warm, steaming water. “Thanks, Hu,” he said sincerely. “I’ll give it a try with the other one.”

The man nodded, watching from a distance as Henri approached the strange horse. It neighed in alarm at the sight of him, shaking its head and rearing back against the barn wall.

Behind him, Hu sighed.

Henri looked back at his neighbor—a large man, like himself, but with thick, dark hair. Then he turned back to the horse, and wondered. Pulling off his hood, he tried again.

The horse stilled for a moment, neighs fading at the sight of Henri’s blondish beard and locks. He moved over slowly, and it let him reach for its reins.

“There we are,” Henri said gently. He ran a hand over the stallion’s neck, and sensed it calm in an instant.

He looked the animal over then. Checked its shoes, felt over its back and side—

And that’s when it cried out again. Henri pulled back quickly, then rested a hand back carefully against the animal’s side. It was swollen, right where a rider would kick the horse into a gallop. When he checked the other side, it felt the same—there was even one spot that felt like an old wound where a sharp heel had broken through the skin.

His suspicions were right. With all the horses he’d had brought in for re-shoeing, he’d seen this on occasion in the past, and it always made him angry. This horse had been mistreated, and he had a feeling whoever owned it looked something like the man behind him.

“Poor fella,” he said, running his hand back over the horse’s neck and making up his mind. Whoever this horse belonged to was _not_ getting him back.

* * *

“Sophie? Will he be okay?”

Sophie managed to tuck the last of the long bandage around Max’s belly, her hands trembling with unexplained nerves. She looked back over at the little teacup beside her. “Yes. I think so.”

Chip was already beside the large dog, cozying up against his neck. Max nudged him weakly with his wet nose before closing his eyes and resting his head against the rug beside the fire.

“And Belle,” Chip asked anxiously. “Will she be okay too?”

Sophie glanced towards the stairs, imagining the dark halls of the West Wing some distance away.

_“You will all be fine.”_

_Shouldn’t he have said **we** will all be fine? _she thought nervously, recalling the prince’s words. If that hadn’t worried her already, the master’s actions that morning would have. He’d left his room briefly at first light, and seemed to be doing his regular rounds of the castle—adjusting a picture frame here, repositioning a living chest there. Yet the way he’d held Chip’s small sleeping form against his chest, the way he’d rested his giant paw against Mrs. Pott’s lid for far longer than normal—the way he’d given Sophie herself a trembling hug. No…no something wasn’t right at all.

“Sophie?”

She looked back at Chip, and tried to keep her voice even. “Yes, sweetie. Belle will be okay too.”

Standing, she moved over towards the kitchen window, peeking out towards the gates. The sun had risen some time ago, and she’d been checking the path every few minutes in anticipation. But like it had been all morning, it remained still and empty.

Sighing nervously, she moved back to the hearth to keep an eye on the injured animal and the now-sleeping boy. She sat slowly on a hard bench nearby, ringing her hands together as she stared at her stiff, metal fingers.

At last, rolling wagon wheels pounded in the distance. She was on her feet in an instant, sprinting towards the gates at the sound.

“Henri,” she breathed in relief, pulling open the heavy gates as he slowed to a stop. “You’re back.”

He smiled wide, hopping out of the wagon and reaching for her hand. He gave it a quick kiss, then nearly ran back behind the wagon in a boyish excitement. A moment later, he guided a large, ebony horse around the front, patting its neck fondly. “Have you seen Jack?” he asked eagerly. “I gotta gift for him.”

Momentarily forgetting her worries, Sophie stared at the giant creature. “The… _horse?”_ she asked in bewilderment.

“Yep!” he said proudly, placing both hands on his hips. “Oh! And Philippe was all the way out in Beaumont, too,” he said, smile fading. “Gee, that’s probably why you’re out here, huh? Belle must’ve been real worried about him…”

“H-Henri,” Sophie said, feeling her anxiety return in full. She couldn’t cry, but in that moment she wished she could.

He stood still for a heartbeat, then dropped the reins and returned to her side. “Something’s happened,” he realized, hesitating for a moment before resting his hands on her arms.

Sophie only nodded, feeling suddenly and completely overwhelmed. Yesterday felt like a nightmare—after the prince had sent Belle away, she’d wandered the dark halls alone like she used to, unable to bear the quiet sobs of the others, trying to comprehend that her life would be over by spring. But even worse, thinking of how Henri would be left alone once again, how he’d lose his son a second time, and how there was no way to even explain it to him.

And it was then she realized how much she already cared for him, and how none of her hopes there could ever come true. And now, even though Belle was back, safe and sound with their young master…something still felt terribly wrong.  

“I’m so sorry,” Henri was saying, looking at his feet. “I didn’t realize. Before, I…I shoulda noticed you were upset…”

“Well, it’s kind of hard to tell how I’m feeling when I don’t have a _face,”_ she choked out. She brought two hands to where her face would be, covering it in shame.

“Nah. It’s my fault,” he insisted, rubbing a thumb across her cold metal arm. He looked over her shoulder, frowning. “What happened?”

“Jack is safe. We all are,” she assured him quickly. “But the enchantress…she must have been here…she must have done something that made the master send her away—”

“Send who away?”

“Belle…”

Henri furrowed his brows. “I saw a wagon on the path,” he said seriously, even through his confusion. “Thought maybe someone’d just abandoned it there, since it wasn’t too far from the trail. I was so excited to get here…I shoulda checked it first.”

“It was so awful, Henri. We all thought we were going to—” _die,_ she was going to say, but the words were cut off in her throat. She cringed, knowing she couldn’t even explain that much to him.

Henri looked puzzled, but didn’t pull away.

 “I…I thought I was going to—” _lose you!_ her mind cried out. She shook her head in frustration. “The curse,” she said in regret. “It won’t let me explain it.”

He pulled her a little closer, letting her head rest against his shoulder. “It’s all right. You don’t have to explain—I believe you.”

Sophie let her vision fade, overcome by his embrace. She hadn’t been held like this in so _long._ Yet how could Henri bear it when she was so stiff and cold?

“You can feel this?” he asked quietly.

She nodded against him, embarrassed by what she was. “I’m sorry—”

Before she could finish, he pulled her closer, resting a hand against the back of her helmet.

“And this?”

She felt the warmth, could almost feel his fingers as though they were woven through the curls that once graced her neck. “Yes,” she breathed.

He nodded, satisfied, and didn’t let go for a long time.

* * *

Quiet breathing. The crackling of a fire. Something warm encasing her hand. Belle opened her eyes, blinking rapidly against the evening sun that broke through the curtains.

_“You’re safe, now.”_

She remembered the forest, the storm, the rope around her wrists. Adam calling for her against the wind. Her heart raced, and she looked around quickly. And there he was, holding her hand and half her arm in one paw, face resting heavily in the palm of his other. Pushing down the heavy covers with her free hand, Belle reached out weakly and brushed her fingers against his cheek.

He looked up in a heartbeat. His eyes were bloodshot, like he hadn’t slept in days. _“Belle,”_ he rasped, squeezing her hand. Then he looked down, suddenly aware of what he was doing, and pulled away.

Belle cocked her head, reaching out and bringing his hand back in hers. “Come,” she said in her own lingering exhaustion, sitting up and moving over to make room. “Sleep…”

Adam looked uncertain. “You’re not afraid of me?”

“Of course not,” she said, tugging on his paw.

“But I…” he started, even as he gave in and climbed in beside her. “I was _terrible.”_

“Because she threatened you.”

Adam stared at her from where he knelt on the mattress, now inches away. Then he pulled her in a close embrace. “You _knew,”_ he breathed against her shoulder.

“I knew _something_ was wrong,” she shrugged, closing her eyes and drinking in the feeling of being held by him again. It had been but a day, but it was all she’d wanted in those freezing, lonesome woods.

“I’m _so_ sorry, Belle,” he said. His voice was thick, like he was holding back tears. “I-I didn’t mean any of it...”

“I know.”

“I didn’t…I didn’t _want_ to send you away…”

“I know, Adam,” she said gently. She ran her fingers in a circle against his back. He was still holding her—clinging to her, almost—so she continued the motion.

“I thought I was doing the right thing,” he said. “But, God, I only made everything worse. You almost…” He sucked in another breath, fingers brushing up through her hair and pulling her closer. “I should have told you what had happened, but I was just so afraid if I did you might try to come back for me, and then she would…” He trailed off, and Belle could hear his heart beating madly in his chest.

“Hurt the others?” she asked sadly.

He pulled back at that, and blinked. “No,” he said. “…Your father.”

Belle gasped, and her eyes grew wide. She clung to Adam’s shirt in fear.

“He’s safe now,” he assured her quickly. “But before, she said if you didn’t leave, or if you tried to come back, she would…kill him.” He looked away, pulling back and holding her arm in one trembling paw. “Sh-she almost did, right in front of me.”

Belle reached for her heart. “…O-oh,” she said breathlessly, staring at his chest and trying to quell the pounding in her own.

Adam pursed his lips, but went on. “I just…I couldn’t bear to see you lose him too,” he admitted quietly.

Belle’s heart finally calmed. She looked back up at him, and realized what he had done for her. “Oh, Adam. Don’t you understand?” she asked, touching his face once again. “I can’t bear to lose you either.”

Adam squeezed his eyes shut, and fell quiet for a long moment. Then he reached for her hand against his cheek, holding it tight. “…Don’t say that,” he whispered, finally opening his eyes.

“…Why not?” Belle asked nervously.

He returned her hand to her slowly, then pulled away, swinging his legs back over the side of the bed and staring absently into his lap. Heart racing once again, Belle slowly followed. Clenching her fists briefly, she reached out a hesitant hand.

Adam caught it quickly, pulling her hand into his lap. His paw was trembling. “She’s coming for me, Belle,” he said blankly.

“Coming for…” she repeated in confusion. She felt the panic well up in her chest, her heart flying into her throat. “What do you mean? We’re together now. Everything—everything’s going to be fine!”

Adam gripped her hand harder. “I had to agree to…” He trailed off, reaching for his throat and looking sick. Sick with fear. Sick with…shame.

 _Why?_ Belle wondered anxiously, leaning over and searching his eyes.

“It was the only way,” he amended. He reached into his chest pocket, pulling out a letter and handing it to her. Belle frowned, holding two thick, folded pages between her fingers. Her name alone was inscribed on its surface, a wax seal on the back that still felt faintly warm.

“I-I’ve…I’ve explained what I can in there, but the curse won’t let me relate it all,” Adam went on. His voice was hoarse. “The others, though, they can explain everything once…” He trailed off again, and swallowed roughly.

Belle stared at the letter, then looked back up at him, heart thundering in her chest. “Once _what?”_

He stared at her, eyes sadder than she’d ever seen them. “Once I’m gone.”

Belle’s heart grew cold, and she finally realized what was happening. She knew he’d been threatened—yet here she was, safe in the castle, her father no longer in danger. And there was no way the enchantress would have allowed it without _something_ else in exchange.

Something that would take Adam away from her.

Suddenly, Belle couldn’t breathe. “No,” she managed at last, before shaking her head madly. “No! You can’t—”

“Belle…”

“Please,” she gasped, dropping the letter and gripping his shirt in desperate hands. _“Please_ don’t leave me!”

She was sobbing, tears soaking into his shirt as she pressed her face against him. He wrapped his arms around her in silence. A terrible silence, a silence that meant he had no words of comfort to offer.

And so, in that moment, Belle calmed her cries and breathed the only words she could think of that would keep him with her. The words she couldn’t bear to keep inside any longer.

“I _love_ you…”

Adam gasped. She sensed him look up towards the ceiling, arms trembling around her for several heart-pounding moments. Then, leaning down, he brushed the tears from her cheek with a soft thumb and spoke.

“I love you too,” he whispered. “…And I always will.”      

At once, the room grew dark. The sun had disappeared behind the distant horizon, yet not a moment later, Belle was blinded by a vibrant light, and deafened by a harsh crack.

Forcing her eyes open, she looked up. That rose in the corner—it was glowing brighter than ever before. Its cloth had fallen away, the glass case now shattered along the ground. Heart racing in fear, she looked back up at Adam. His eyes were squeezed shut, fingers gripping her tight as he struggled for breath.

“Adam?” Belle asked in fear. A violent tremble coursed through his body once, then twice. The second time, his arms lost their hold on her as a terrible groan flew into this throat. “Adam, what’s wrong?!” she cried, trying to hold him up. It was useless, however, and he fell on heavy knees to the floor.

Looking around in desperation, Belle caught movement across the room. Beside the rose, two delicate fingers appeared in the shadows, reaching for its thin stem. Long arms, then a body appeared next, a colossal woman with flowing blond hair staring at the flower in her fingertips. In a second, it had dissolved into a hundred golden shards, raining down on the carpet. Smirking, the woman whipped her head around, staring back at Belle with crimson eyes.

“It’s _you,”_ Belle rasped. Beneath her, Adam’s massive form was shaking madly, his face contorted as if in terrible pain. She looked down at him in fear, then back up at the enchantress before her. “What are you doing to him?!” she cried.

The woman laughed. It was a terrifying sound, ringing in Belle’s ears long after she’d stopped. “Why, I didn’t do that to him, dearest,” she simpered. _“You_ did.”

Belle breathed heavily, looking back down at Adam. He was facing the intruder, eyes quaking before staring back at Belle. He tried to return her embrace, but another tremor swept over him. He grimaced, gritting his teeth against a fresh wave of groans, losing strength in his arms and nearly falling to the ground. Belle barely managed to catch him, pulling him against her and cradling his head in her lap. He clung to her waist with one arm, gasping for breath, his body burning with a stinging heat. Belle could do nothing but hold him as close as she could, running desperate fingers over his brow and watching in terror.

“Don’t worry, he’ll look much better when it’s over,” the witch said, brushing her hands together before casting one forth. “Though I don’t plan on letting him stay long enough for _you_ to see.” Then more gold, this time from her fingertips, shot across the room and straight for Adam’s heart.

Belle’s eyes grew wide, frightened and confused. Yet impulse overrode all else, and she was flinging herself across Adam’s body in an instant. She braced herself for the impact, but none came. Instead, long, winding chains crawled between her limbs and wrapped themselves around Adam until a thick, glowing band formed around his neck. Like the collar of an animal, tightening with each breath he took.

“No!” Belle screamed, reaching down and tugging against the terrible bond. She turned back towards the enchantress, sucking in a breath of terror. “No! Let him go!”

“Belle…” Adam managed at last, finally lifting one trembling hand up and resting it against her shoulder. His eyes looked sad and defeated, but not surprised—almost like he’d been expecting this.

“Adam, you…you _have_ to fight back,” Belle begged, tugging desperately with both hands against the cruel cuff around his throat. “Please!”

“He can’t,” the witch said. She was closer now, the end of a long chain tight in one red-nailed hand. “He’s made an oath.” She stopped beside them, her head skimming the ceiling above, lips curling into a vicious smirk as she leaned close. “A spell-binding oath, if you will.”

Belle sucked in a breath of fear. The enchantress was even more terrifying than she’d imagined. Her eyes were larger and far more vibrant than they’d been in the old storyteller’s form; her nails long, and sharp as claws; her lips so red they seemed to drip blood. And while she had a terrible beauty about her, her skin appeared to be sinking in upon closer inspection, so translucent in some places the bone was visible beneath.

Belle shook her head roughly. “No,” she said, clinging to Adam’s shoulders as he continued to tremble beneath her. Yes, she was frightened, but in that moment her fear paled against her determination. “I—I won’t let you do this!” she shouted.

The enchantress scowled, amusement fading. “Shove off, girl,” she said, reaching down and grabbing Belle’s sleeve. “He’s no longer your concern.” Belle held to Adam as tightly as she could, but found herself torn from him in an instant and thrown aside like a ragdoll.

 _“Belle,”_ Adam groaned, stretching out an arm in an attempt to reach her. Yet he jerked to a stop as he did, the chain holding him back. He growled, turning back towards the enchantress as he gasped for breath. “You promised…not…to hurt her…”

“And I didn’t,” the enchantress said, crossing her arms.

Belle rolled to a stop, but the witch was right. She felt no pain at the fall. Still, her lingering exhaustion from her previous state of hypothermia fell over her in that instant, and she fought against tired limbs back to her knees.

“I’m as bound by this as you, my dear prince,” the enchantress was saying. “Just as bound to cause no harm to them as _you_ are bound to do exactly as I say.” She paused, narrowing her eyes as she stared down at him. “Now, get _up.”_

Adam, heaving in several shallow breaths, rose slowly onto shaky feet. He looked different—thinner, somehow, skin sagging like he hadn’t eaten well in weeks. He looked back at Belle then, breathing heavily, eyes longing to go back to her.

Belle crawled forward, reaching out to him—but something stopped her. She felt the strange force before her, and her heart sunk in her chest.

An invisible wall of bricks, exactly like Adam had described. Yet this time, it was a wall made for her.

Beyond the barrier between them, the enchantress sighed. “Pathetic,” she huffed, turning back towards Adam. “Come, Beast.”

 “A-Adam,” Belle begged, sobs building in her throat once again. “Please…”

“Leave her,” the enchantress ordered him. He watched Belle in agony for a moment, then turned away, legs seeming to move on their own in reluctant obedience.

The enchantress pulled something from within her heavy robes, dropping it at their feet. In an instant, an enormous frame sprouted from the floor. And within it, a strange sheet of glass filled with a dark, swirling fog. Adam was still shaking, bracing himself against the frame. 

 _No!_ Belle thought in desperation. _There must be some way I can—_ “Wait!” she shouted.

The witch turned back in annoyance, cocking a head at her.

Belle clenched her fists, trying to quell her fear, barely thinking before she spoke. “Take…take me instead,” she offered.

 _“Belle,”_ Adam gasped, looking back in horror. “No!”

The enchantress only laughed. “I have no interest in _you,”_ she said, before turning to Adam. “Didn’t tell her yet, did you dearest?”

Adam was staring at the ground now, eyes wide.

She tugged on the chain in her hands, forcing him to face her. “You see,” she went on, tilting her head to the side and pulling him close before grinning back at Belle. “He agreed to marry _me.”_

Belle’s heart grew cold. Then disgust, and a sudden anger flooded over her as the reason for Adam’s earlier shame became clear. “Agreed?” she said hollowly, trying and failing to breathe. “You’ve…you’ve forced him to—”

She stopped as Adam groaned again. He grabbed at his temple and lost hold of the heavy frame.

“Adam!” Belle cried, pushing with all her might against the wall between them, watching helplessly as he fell to his knees once more. And that’s when she noticed it—the small clumps of fur along the ground at his feet, the empty patches against his ever-thinning limbs. She stared, wide-eyed and horrorstruck at the sight.

 _“Ugh,_ how disgusting,” the witch said, wrinkling her nose. “Hmm…I wonder how long it will take you to change back.” She paused, tapping a finger against her lips for a long moment before pressing the tips of all five against the tall mirror. The mirror glowed bright, before fading into a strange black glow that lined its edge. Looking back at Belle, the enchantress narrowed her eyes. “I wouldn’t stay around here much longer, if I were you,” she said. “I won’t stay away forever.” At that, she tossed the end of the chain into the mirror’s swirling darkness.

“P-please…” Belle gasped, clawing desperately against the invisible bricks before her, vision blurring against fresh tears. “Why are you _doing_ this?”

The enchantress frowned deeply. “I…” She stopped, furrowing her brows and staring into the mirror as something within its depths began pulling on the long chain. Then she scoffed, turning and glaring back at Belle. “I don’t have to answer to _you.”_

Then, without another word, she stepped into the mirror and vanished.

“Wait—” Belle gasped, watching the chain shorten with each passing second. It was nearly gone now, and Adam stared at it from where he knelt. Then he looked back at her, eyes wide, opening his mouth again as if to speak. But before he could, he was jerked backwards.

And, falling into the mirror’s depths, he disappeared.

“NO!” Belle screamed, throwing herself against the wall. It was gone, and she tumbled forward, gasping for breath before racing to follow him. But she only reached another barrier—the mirror’s glass that no longer showed that strange fog but her own dim reflection.

She pressed her hands against its surface, cold and smooth. “No,” she choked out. “No, no please…come back,” she begged.

Adam’s room grew darker in response, the air now silent as death.

Belle stared at her own weak figure, fingers trembling against the glass. She dropped slowly to the floor, fingers brushing something soft where she sat. She looked down, and gasped, those bits of Adam’s fur lingering beneath her fingertips. At her touch, however, they dissolved into a golden glow, much like the rose.

Terror flooded her heart. The man she loved was hurting, and gone—torn from her right when she’d gotten him back. Thrown into a strange, unreachable darkness, the same place that had taken the king, now lost for a decade. A place she didn’t understand…a place no ordinary person could possibly reach alone.

Belle felt fresh sobs in her throat. _“Please_ come back,” she whispered, leaning against the mirror where she sat. She pressed weak fingers back against the glass, willing it to let her through while knowing full well it never would.

Somewhere in the distant parts of the castle, cries of joy had broken out, drowning out her own cries of heartache.

* * *

Sophie sat in the gardens, watching the sun settle against the horizon. She didn’t feel it’s warmth like she used to, but she somehow felt warmer than she had in a long time as she sat there and remembered that morning. Remembered the feeling of Henri’s arms holding her close, and how much better it had made her feel. Perhaps things weren’t as bad as she thought after all.

She was so lost in thought that she barely noticed the sound of footsteps until they were upon her.

 _“Whew,”_ Henri sighed, stopping and settling his hands on his knees where he stood. “I never realized how hard it was putting a kid to bed.”

Sophie giggled a bit, scooting over where she sat to give him room. He smiled, joining her on the old stone bench.

“How many chapters did he make you read?” she asked.

He flushed a little. “Ah. Well, actually, he read to _me_ from one a them ‘venture books for a good hour,” he admitted. “Never did learn my letters too well.” He looked over the gardens, and smiled. “He’s so bright, just like his mother—” He stopped, cringing and staring at his feet. “S-sorry.”

Sophie cocked her head. “What for?”

He grimaced, looking over at her before staring back at his hands. “A couple years after Virginie passed I, uh…well, I got lonely, I guess,” he shrugged. “Tried courtin’ a few women. But…well, they’d all get pretty upset any time I mentioned her.”

“…What?” Sophie asked in shock.

He shrugged again. “I get it. Nobody wants to hear an ol’ widower’s regrets. No woman wants to be worryin’ he’s still stuck in the past.” He frowned deeply, wringing his hands together. “But she was a part a me. I can’t just forget she existed. Couldn’t just forget I’d lost her.” He swallowed, closing his eyes. “I…I had a hard enough time as it was just courtin’ again, without feeling like I was betraying her memory. To never speak of her again…I couldn’t do that. I don’t _want_ to do that.”

“Of course not,” Sophie said gently. And she meant it. It was strange; she’d never felt this way for anyone before, and would have expected to feel some jealousy towards the woman who had first claimed Henri’s heart. But instead, she felt nothing but concern, nothing but a desire that he find peace.

Something brushed her hand, breaking through her thoughts. Looking over, Sophie realized he’d covered her metal gauntlet with his warm fingers. “Still,” he went on, finally looking back at her. “I…I would like to try again.”

“H-Henri,” she breathed, looking down at his hand over hers. “I’m made of _metal.”_

“Wait, you are?” he asked, a small smile tugging at his beard.

She chuckled, even as her heart pounded in her chest. _No…I don’t have a heart,_ she recalled.

“Sophie,” he went on seriously. “If the gal I fall for is metal then, well…I’m not gonna run away from that. Even if, ya know…it means giving some things up. Much rather have that than be with someone I don’t love.”

Sophie stared at him. Something was _definitely_ pounding in her chest now.

He grimaced, scratching the back of his head. “S-sorry,” he said quickly, looking away. “Maybe I’m being too—”

“You love me?” she asked in surprise.

He looked back, staring at her with those deep, brown eyes. “I think I’m starting to.”

Before Sophie could answer, all went dark and cold. She gasped, looking around the now-dark grounds, the warmth of Henri’s hand suddenly gone.

“I-I can’t see,” she gasped. Her voice sounded loud in her ears. “Henri, where are you?!”

That thumping in her chest returned tenfold. A heart, no doubt about it, pounding against her breast, sending pulses up into her neck and down into her gut.

“I’m right here, Soph,” Henri said earnestly. While her own voice rang in her ears, his seemed strangely distant. Something shook around her, like a strange, metal encasement.

And then she realized it.

“Henri,” she said. “Take off my helmet!”

“A-all right,” he said, obviously confused. Something clicked just above her head, then the faint light of evening appeared before Henri’s face appeared in the opening.

He gaped in shock. “Have…” He stopped, blinking twice before speaking again. “Have you been in there this whole time?!”

 _“No!”_ she cried, laughing with joy. She tried to pull her head through the opening, but she could barely move her stiff arms. No longer encased in the armor itself, she was far too small to move the stiff metal like she once could. “Henri,” she gasped. “I can’t move. Can you—”

He was already twisting off the gauntlets before she could finish, then proceeded to unhinge the sides of the breastplate. As soon as they fell away, the dim gardens returned, and so did Henri. He was staring at her now, eyes wide as saucers. Fingers trembling, Sophie reached up.

Hair between her fingers. Soft cheeks. Warm, full lips.

 _“Oh,”_ she gasped. “Oh. Oh!” She pulled her hands away, staring down at herself in wonder. She still wore her old maid’s uniform, and where cold metal gauntlets had once been were the golden brown arms and fingers she hadn’t seen in ten years.

Dropping the armor in his hands, Henri continued to gape. “Whoa…” he breathed.

Sophie grew still, staring back down at her hands, so petite compared to the gauntlets he’d just removed. _I must look a lot different than he was expect—_

“You’re _beautiful,”_ he blustered, breaking through her thoughts. Then his own pale cheeks turned a vibrant red that burned even through his thick beard. “I-I mean, uh…I like your hair.”

Sophie reached up and pulled a single black curl forward. It was so _long_ —had her hair continued to grow all these years?

“I can’t believe it…” she said, a smile tugging at her lips. Real lips! A real smile! She felt her face again, and laughed once more. What had she been so worried about before? “Belle, the prince—they must have broken the spell after all!” she cried. She looked towards the West Wing, a strange, pinkish glow shining through its tall windows.

Meanwhile, Henri’s mouth had fallen open, looking back in the direction of the castle. “So that’s what nobody could tell me?”

“Uh-huh,” Sophie said, barely containing her laughter. She felt she could laugh for hours and never stop.

She sobered quickly, however, as Henri looked back at her with soft eyes. Eyes full of meaning. Nervously, he inched closer, reaching forward and pushing back the mess of hair from the side of her face. The touch sent a wonderful flutter into her stomach.

“It’s really you, then?” he asked quietly.

She stared at him, then nodded.

“Could…” He stopped, leaning down closer, warm breath against her lips. “Could I…”

“Yes,” she breathed earnestly, closing her eyes.

Sophie waited but a moment before feeling his lips against hers. They were so warm, and their heat seemed to fill her head to toe in an instant. His hands were rough and callused from his work, but held her gently, brushing up and into her thick hair and pulling her deeper into the kiss. Goodness, the man knew what he was doing.

Sophie hummed against him. After all these years feeling constantly cold, and so alone…this felt like a dream.

Finally parting, he smiled down at her. Somehow, it was larger and even sweeter than any of the smiles she'd seen from him before.

“You know…” Sophie started, running a finger over her lips and looking up with a mischievous grin. “I may be starting to love you too.”

He chuckled heartily at that, pulling her up in a tight embrace.

“Henri, wait!” she gasped, feeling a heavy strain against her lower half. “My legs!”

“Oh, right,” he said, dropping quickly to his knees and unfastening the rest of her now-bulky armor. He pulled each piece off carefully, setting them aside with a strange reverence before looking back up at her. His smile hadn’t faded, nor had the redness in his cheeks.

Muffled cries of alarm and joy started ringing out from the castle, and Henri’s eyes went wide in a heartbeat.

“Jack,” Sophie breathed.

He stared at her in shock for another long moment, then nodded and grabbed her hand before racing back towards the kitchens. Sophie found it surprisingly easy to keep up—for even though her legs were shorter now, it was much easier to control flesh than creaking metal joints.

“Papa!” a small voice cried out as they entered the kitchens. “Papa, help!”

They spotted him then; a small, blond-haired child near the top of the kitchen cupboards. While the others preferred one of the castle’s soft beds, Chip had found great personal enjoyment in the time Mrs. Potts had allowed him to sleep in one of the top cupboards. He’d laid claim there ever since.

Now, however, the poor boy was wedged between the shelves where he slept. Henri ran over, bracing one foot against the counter and tearing off several of the cupboard’s wooden panels. Throwing them aside, he then gently pulled the child free.

“Jack,” he said, cradling him against his chest and pushing his long hair from his face. “Is it you, son?”

“Papa,” the boy said, wide-eyed and frightened. He looked close to tears. “I can’t move…I c-can’t move…”

Henri looked his son over. The child’s arms hung limp at his sides, head barely holding itself aloft.

 _He never learned to use his limbs,_ Sophie realized, heart falling into her stomach.

Henri pulled Chip’s hands into his own, tucking him closer against himself. “You’re all right,” he said quietly. “I’ve got ya. Don’t be scared.”

Chip closed his eyes as two small tears escaped. “D-don’t let go, Papa,” he whispered. “I’ll break.”

“I won’t let go,” Henri promised. He looked up then, and caught Sophie’s eyes. Despite his spoken assurances, the young father looked terrified.

Sophie moved over slowly. “Chip,” she said carefully. “It’s me, Sophie. Do you recognize my voice?”

He opened his eyes, staring at her for a long moment. Then he nodded, ever so slightly. But it was enough.

“There, see, you’re moving your head!” she said. She reached for his fingers, and gave them a gentle squeeze. “Can you feel that, sweetie?”

“Yeah…” the boy said slowly. “It feels weird. What is it?”

“I’m holding your hand,” she explained. “My fingers are warm now, huh?”

Henri started feeling Chip’s arm as they spoke, then moved down to his leg. His breathing calmed a little as he did. “He’s strong,” he said seriously, looking back up and lowering his voice. “This…this is the body of a boy who _runs.”_

 _Maybe there’s still hope, then,_ Sophie thought. Her heart was pounding so loudly she thought it would burst from her chest. Or perhaps that’s how hearts always felt—she couldn’t remember. “We should get him to the doctor,” she told Henri.

“Papa,” Chip said, looking down at himself with wide eyes. “What’s going on?”

“You’re…you’re…” Henri trailed off, now fighting back tears of his own. He sucked in a breath. “It’s all right. You’re you again, ya see? Got hands like yer Papa’s,” he explained, reaching for Chip’s hand again and holding it up in his own.

Chip’s eyes grew wide at the sight, but not in fear this time. “I’m not a teacup anymore?” he asked, as if suddenly putting the pieces together. His fingers flexed once, then twice, grabbing his father’s thumb in a weak grip.

“Look at that!” Henri cried. “You’re doing that, son!”

Chip stared at his hand for a long moment, then looked back up. “Does this mean I can hold a big sword like you, Papa?”

Henri laughed, kissing Chip’s small fingers and pulling him close. “One step at a time, kiddo.”

“Chip!”

A cacophony of cheers, chatter, and disjointed steps from the upper floors broke through the kitchen as the door above burst open.

“Where is my little boy?”

Sophie looked up, watching as a short, plump woman attempted to descend the tall steps. She gripped the wooden handrail like a lifeline, long white hair tumbling out of her bun and face beat red as though she’d been running for miles.

“Mrs. Potts!” Sophie cried, racing up the stairs to her side. She gripped the woman’s arm tight, reaching around her shoulder to steady her.

“Oh, Sophie! Still so lovely,” Mrs. Potts said with warmth, reaching up patting her cheek before gripping her arm with a tired hand. “Bless your heart, I haven’t used these old legs in—oh!” she cried, catching sight of those that awaited them below. “Chip! Is that you?!”

Chip looked around as they hobbled down the old steps. “Mama? Where are you?”

“Here, love!” Mrs. Potts said, finally reaching the bottom of the stairs with Sophie. She stopped, staring at the child in Henri’s arms. “Oh, look at you,” she gasped, eyes filling quickly with tears.

Henri moved over carefully. “Mother, he’s…not quite ready to move much, yet.”

She nodded slowly, as though she wasn’t surprised. “I see.”

Chip stared at Mrs. Potts with wide eyes, watching as she reached up and cupped one of his cheeks.

“You’re my Mama?” he asked, uncertain.

“Yes, dear. It’s me.”

He watched her carefully for several moments. “So...you got hands then, too?” he asked at last.

“Hands and arms to hug you,” she whispered.

“You hear that?” Henri prodded. “You wanna give your Mama a hug?”

“…Yeah,” Chip said, with unusual shyness. Sophie helped Mrs. Potts settled into the rocker by the fire, and Henri promptly settled the boy in her arms, staying nearby to steady him. But not before reaching out a hand and beckoning Sophie to his side.

Mrs. Potts pulled Chip close, resting her head against his. “You smell so good,” she breathed, her tears now falling freely down her cheeks.

And, finally, the child let forth his first smile since the transformation—revealing one large chip in his front tooth.

Henri chuckled, wrapping an arm around Sophie and leaning close. “Looks like he’s keeping that nickname.”

* * *

“A few things should come back quickly,” Docteur Mathius said. “Holding his head up, some uncoordinated movement of the arms, legs, and fingers—things he had already managed as an infant.”

“I wondered…” Mrs. Potts replied, fingers curled into her apron. “I didn’t even know at what age we’d be getting him back.”

“Yes, it appears we all aged with time,” Mathius said. “A full head of white hair on me now! But I’ll take it.”

Before them sat Henri with Chip in his lap. He held his son upright, large arms wrapped around him to keep him in place. The doctor continued to fumble through his office drawers with shaking hands, still trying to gain control of his own body after so long spent as an ear horn. The latter was now safely tucked into his belt.

Around them sat a crowd of servants, chatting happily and admiring their new limbs. More hobbled inside by the minute, dozens more waiting out in the hall. Some were stiffer than others, depending on their enchanted forms, and awaited their own examination. Most, however, only wished to see how the castle’s youngest occupant would fair.

“Now,” Mathius went on, “considering the condition of his body, I believe the nerve connections still exist. No child without them could have muscles such as he does. Ah, there we are,” he said, finally pulling a small mallet from a cupboard and settling with some effort on a stool before Henri. “Let’s take a look.”

Without another word, he tapped lightly on Chip’s knee. The servants all around grew still, watching with bated breath—then broke into cheers as the boy’s leg gave a small but unmistakable kick.

Someone stood, running on clumsy legs into the hall. “He’ll walk!” he called out to those outside.

“Thatta lad,” Henri said, hugging the boy tight. Chip smiled wide as the doctor continued prodding several other sections of his limbs.

“Mama,” he asked a moment later. “When do I get to try a cookie? There’s still some left over from Christmas!”

At that, the room erupted in laughter.

“Now, now, I think we better start you on liquids,” the doctor smiled, before growing serious and turning towards the others. “In fact, _all_ of us would do best to begin with a simple diet. Chicken soup, perhaps some plain bread—”

At that, the door burst open. “I’ve got the rum!” Lumiere called out, a bottle in each hand. He half hopped, half hobbled inside, clearly not in full control of his legs yet and giving the impression he’d already had a good fill of the substance.

“Monsieur, I thought you would be with Fifi right now,” one of the maids said, obviously insinuating something as several of her friends giggled without restraint.

 _“Oh,”_ Lumiere said slyly, handing off the liquor to the group before looking up and flashing a cheeky smile. “Don’t fret, ladies, _ma cocotte_ and I already—” He stopped when Mrs. Potts cleared her throat loudly, and glanced towards Chip. The boy’s eyes were wide and attentive.

“Ah,” Lumiere said, coughing before turning around with flourish. “I mean—Chip, my boy! You look splendid!”

“Who are you?” Chip asked innocently.

Several chuckles crossed the room. Given Chip had been too young to remember anyone in their human forms, Lumiere wasn’t the first to need a reintroduction.

“Give it a guess, lad. He shouldn’t be hard,” one of the men suggested, downing a giant gulp from one of the bottles before passing it down the line. Doctor Mathius sighed in defeat.

Lumiere, on demand, did a twirl and threw out his hands in a flashy show no other servant could possibly pull off.

“Mmm…” Chip hummed, furrowing his brows. “Cogsworth?”

Lumiere’s mouth nearly fell to the floor. _“Cogs_ worth?!”

Chip giggled. “Just kidding! I knew it was you, Lumiere,” he said, flashing his own wide, half-toothed grin.

The others broke out in laughter once again, Henri most of all. “Look at that!” he cried, ruffling his son’s hair. “A real _Chip_ off the ol’ block!”

The laughter only swelled in volume at that, along with few groans. Once they calmed again, Sophie looked back towards the hall. “Hold on,” she said, frowning. “Has anyone seen Prince Adam?”

The others gasped, before breaking out in an excited chatter.

One man, standing in the corner and sucking on a pipe, blew out a long puff of smoke before clearing his throat. “No doubt he’s still up there snoggin’ his gal,” he smirked. His wife, standing at his side, gave him a well-deserved smack.

“Oh, they’ve had long enough,” one of the other woman said impatiently. “I want to see him!”

“Mama,” Chip’s voice said over the resulting chatter. “What’s snogging?”

“…I’ll tell you when you’re older.”

“Make way, make _way.”_

The crowds around the door slowly split apart, a large man attempting to waddle his way through.

“Cogsworth!” Lumiere cried, spinning around to greet the man. “As rotund as ever, I see!”

Cogsworth frowned. “Lumiere, I really don’t have time to—” He was cut off, eyes growing wide as saucers as Lumiere pressed two very wet kisses on each of the man’s cheeks.

 _“Ack!”_ Cogsworth cried, shoving the man off—to the pure enjoyment of the rest of the household.

“Come, Cogsworth,” Lumiere said, draping a lanky arm over his shoulder. “Even you can’t be serious at a _time_ like this!” he exclaimed, poking the older gentleman in the nose which had held two golden clock hands not an hour before.

“Lumiere, that was terrible,” Cogsworth grumbled.

“Ah, it can’t be true! For Fifi tells me my kisses are _si magnifiques!”_   Lumiere cried, draping an arm across his forehead in false distress.

“Monsieur!” Cogsworth finally shouted, red-faced and angry. “This…this is no time for such show!”

All fell still at that.

“Cogsworth,” Lumiere said quietly, sobering in a heartbeat and placing a careful hand on his shoulder. “My friend…what has happened?”

Cogsworth huffed out a frustrated breath, clenching one fist before pressing a palm to his face and staring at the floor.

Sophie stood at once, and Henri looked up at her in concern. “The prince,” she gasped. “H-he’s in trouble, isn’t he?”

Cogsworth’s shoulders sagged beneath Lumiere’s hand. “But…” Lumiere started, growing nervous. “The spell is broken. Surely…surely all is well…”

“Yes. All _is_ well,” Cogsworth said at last, looking up slowly. “At our prince’s expense.”

A dead silence fell over the crowd.

“He has handed his freedom to the enchantress, in exchange for our safety and that of the mademoiselle,” Cogsworth went on in solemnity. “Each of you each has been left with wages enough to survive a lifetime, and instructions to flee this kingdom.”

All remained still for a long moment. Then, an old stable hand rose onto shaky feet. “Like hell I’ll leave,” he said gruffly, holding up the rake he’d once inhabited in defiance. “Does that damn boy really think we’d abandon him, after all this?!”

“Never!” the woman beside him cried, rising to her own feet.

“Aye!” shouted another.

_“Aye!”_

It wasn’t long before everyone who could had risen to their feet, pledging their allegiance to their prince. Lumiere, filled with fresh energy from the others, pulled himself atop the closest table and spread his arms wide. All looked to him, eyes blazing with conviction.

“Screw your courage to the sticking place, my friends!” he cried. Then his voice grew low, eyes dark and fierce. “We’ve got a witch to catch.”

* * *

_My dear Belle,_

_I’m not sure how much longer we’ll have together, but I must tell you what I can before it’s too late. And I fear the words won’t come when I want them to._

Belle held the page in a tight but shaky grip, still struggling for breath through her tears, still kneeling on the floor where she’d crawled back to retrieve the letter.

The next few lines explained in greater detail what she already knew. How the witch had appeared to Adam at Abel’s Peak while they gazed upon the stars, how she’d brought him to the woods and threatened him with Maurice’s life. Why he’d sent Belle away the next day, and why he now regretted it so much.

And then, worst of all, how he’d agreed to the witch’s horrible arrangement in order to save Belle’s life.

“This is all my fault,” she wept, shaking her head in grief.

She should never have come here. If she had just listened to Papa all those months ago and stayed home, she wouldn’t have angered the enchantress and led Adam to such a terrible choice.

Forcing her eyes open and wiping back tears, she continued to read.

 _Belle, don’t for a moment believe this is your fault,_ it said. Belle gasped, realizing he’d known just where her thoughts might lead.

 _There’s more going on here than I can explain_ , it went on, _for the curse won’t allow it **.** But know my fate was sealed long before you came. And when you find out the rest from the others, when you find out the truth about this curse, please know it didn’t change anything. Not for me._

_I’m not sure if you realized it, but when you came I was in utter despair. There was a darkness that had taken hold of my heart, and I was certain nothing could cast it away. But you did. You brought me back, you saw the person I thought I’d lost and helped me find him again. And even with what’s to come, I’ll try to hold onto him, Belle, if only for you._

_I suppose by the time you read this you will already know, but the truth is this: I love you. I love you so much, more than I’ve ever loved anyone. You are everything to me—my greatest friend, my closest confidant, the person I admire most. I never dreamed I would find someone like you, and I never knew all that love could be until I did. I admit I imagined spending a life with you, though even that seemed too short a time together._

_Strange. I was always so afraid to say it, but now I can’t seem to stop the words from flowing onto this page._

“I love you too,” Belle whispered, sucking in a breath before going on.

_Belle, everything you are is beautiful, and you deserve a full and happy life. I hope you can find it. I hope you and your father can find peace and safety, somewhere far from here. I hope you can continue to study and paint and share all the goodness that you are with everyone you meet. I hope…_

Here, the strokes of ink seemed to falter, as though written with a shaky hand.

_I hope you find someone else who can make you happy. For while no man could ever love you as I have, I pray you find one who comes close. And if that means forgetting me, I’ll understand._

Belle shook her head roughly, tears dripping onto the page. “I c-can’t,” she gasped. “Oh Adam, I can’t…”

_Please though, if you can, forgive me. Forgive me for leaving you, forgive me for failing to find a way we could be together. For I doubt I’ll ever forgive myself._

_Adieu, my love._

_Adam_

Reaching out with a shaky hand, Belle brushed her fingers over his name. Then she gasped, pressing the letter against her chest, trying to draw what little part of him out of it that she could.

“It’s hopeless,” she gasped, grabbing at her heart, trying to fight the horrible fist that had returned, twisting up her insides like it had at Maman’s death. But this time, somehow, it felt even worse.

 _No,_ that small voice inside whispered, barely noticeable beneath her turmoil. _You can’t lose hope._

“It’s never hopeless,” another voice said, echoing her thoughts. Belle started, looking up as heavy footfalls stepped into the room. A tall, thin man stood there, dressed in a well-fitted military uniform, long grey hair swept back in a neat ponytail.

“Who are you?” Belle asked, heart racing in fear.

The man remained a safe distance away. “A friend, my dear,” he said. His voice was soothing, and deep, but strangest of all…it felt familiar. With slow, deliberate movements, he gave a deep bow before standing tall once again and resting a hand on the sword at his hip.

Belle’s eyes followed his gloved hand, and grew wide in response. “Sire…Sire Gilles?” she asked, recognizing the blade in an instant. “Are you all right? Why…” She stopped, looking back at the strange man in fear. “Why do you have him?” she demanded.

The man only smiled, taking another two steps closer before crouching down to her level. From this distance, Belle caught several specks of gold in each of his ears. In a way, the earrings reminded her of the golden carvings along the blade’s hand guard now resting at his hip. Pulling the sabre slowly from his belt, the man displayed it upon his open palms.

“Mademoiselle,” he said. “Do you not recognize me now?”

Belle stared at Gilles’ cold, unmoving form, then back at the man who held him. The man whose voice had traveled with her through the woods outside a hundred times now. “Gilles,” she breathed. “You’re…you’re human again.”

He smiled, though there was sadness to it. “Yes. We have returned to ourselves once more.”

Belle took a long moment to catch her breath. She looked back at the grand mirror that had taken Adam, remembering his trembling body, the way he’d clung to her through his pain. The way his body had started to shift before her very eyes.

 _Was he changing back too?_ Belle wondered in shock.

She looked back at Gilles’ human form. She should be asking how the curse had broken, if everyone was really back to themselves once more. But she could only think of one thing. “G-Gilles,” she choked out. “He’s gone…”

Slowly, the man reached a gentle arm around her shoulder. Belle, having nothing left, buried her face against his coat.

“Oh, dear girl, forgive me,” Gilles said, setting the sword aside and reaching another arm around her. “I could not stop him, nor protect him as I should have done.”

Belle tried to speak, but only found herself crying again. Eventually, the old commander pulled her carefully to her feet and guided her back to bed. Setting her on the edge, he moved with careful steps across the room and dragged another chair to her side.

“He agreed so she would break the curse, didn’t he?” Belle asked at last, dabbing her face against her sleeve. “Agreed to…to _marry_ that monster,” she whispered. Suddenly, she realized the fear she’d felt at such a prospect with Gaston must be nothing to what Adam was facing right now. Her throat grew tight once again, and she gripped the covers hard.

“In a way, that is true,” Gilles replied. “Though it was more an agreement that the enchantress would _allow_ the curse to be broken.”

Belle frowned. “But if she didn’t break it, then who…” She trailed off, staring at her feet.

 _“I didn’t do that to him. You did.”_ What had the enchantress meant by that?

Belle forced herself to think back. She remembered the witch’s horrible tale told while in the storyteller’s stolen form, remembered being led to the rose in the dead of night, remembered how Adam had been forced to send her away the day before. Belle had known the enchantress wanted her gone, but she’d always assumed it was simply because she was an outsider.

But wasn’t Henri an outsider too? Why didn’t the witch care that he was here?

Belle frowned deeply, recalling her last words to Adam that evening before their enemy appeared.

And suddenly, it all made sense.

“It was me,” she whispered, looking up. “My…my love for Adam broke the spell.”

“And his for you,” Gilles nodded.

Belle’s breath was hollow, and she pressed Adam’s letter closer against her breast. She faintly recalled that early autumn day in the gardens, sitting together on an old stone bench, the way his throat had closed up before the words could come out. “He tried to tell me,” she said quietly. “When I first came. He tried to explain the curse, but he couldn’t.”

“Yes, he did. But my dear,” Gilles said seriously, resting a comforting hand on hers. “I have no doubt that, cursed or not, his feelings for you would not have changed.”

Belle looked back down at the letter, still held tightly between her fingers. “Yes. Yes, I know.”

Gilles pulled back, crossing his legs with some stiffness and frowning. “Prince Adam informed me it was the enchantress’s intention to seduce him into breaking the spell with her all along.” He stopped, huffing to himself. “She clearly doesn’t know our prince at _all.”_

Belle nodded. “And that’s why she wanted me gone.” She sucked in a breath, lifting her feet off the floor and pulling her knees to her chest. “And now she has just what she wanted. Oh, Gilles,” she gasped, shaking her head. “How can I feel any hope? His father was taken just the same way, and no one’s seen him since!”

“It is true,” Gilles admitted. “King Alexandre has been lost all these years. However,” he said, leaning forward and raising a finger. “We were but household objects, with a master who could not leave these grounds. We are not so ill-equipped now.”

Leaning back again, he reached into his coat and pulled out a shining, silver object.

“The mirror,” Belle breathed, taking in her hands.

“Your noble steed had it on him,” Gilles explained. “Henri found it upon retrieving the old boy from Beaumont.”

“Philippe,” Belle gasped. “And Max—”

“—are both well,” Gilles explained.

Nodding with some relief, Belle looked back at the mirror in her grasp. She stared at it hard, heart beginning to race. “Sh-show me—show me Adam,” she asked quickly.

The mirror changed, but showed only that same strange, swirling mist that he’d fallen into. Heart sinking in her stomach, she tried again. “Show me the witch, _please,”_ she asked desperately. “Show me where they are!”

“That won’t work,” Gilles said. “Such questions haven’t worked in the past, I’m afraid.”

Belle nodded, still disappointed even though she should have known as much. Adam had told her himself, after all. He’d tried for years to see his father in the mirror, with no success. Of course the witch wouldn’t let things be so simple.

Still…there was more to this mirror that they didn’t know. She could feel it. “I still think it can help us,” she told Gilles.

“As do I,” he agreed. “Now, I must be honest with you. It was Prince Adam’s wish that we escape this kingdom, for the enchantress has expressed a desire to seize control of it.”

Belle looked up, eyes growing wide. She thought of the villagers in Molyneaux—she didn’t feel particularly close to most of them, but being ruled by that terrible sorceress wasn’t something she would wish upon anyone.

“However,” Gilles went on. “The prince only ordered us to leave the palace, and to keep you safe.”

A small smile had crept over his face, and Belle began to feel one of her own. “So…there’s no reason you can’t escort me on a witch hunt,” she finished for him.

Gilles bowed his head slightly, though it couldn’t hide the grin on his face. “I will follow your lead, mademoiselle.”

A bit of hope crept into Belle’s heart. “I know something that will make your job easier,” she said quickly. “The enchantress—she can’t harm me. It was part of her agreement with Adam.”

“Ah,” Gilles said, raising his brows. “That is good news indeed.”

“All right,” Belle said, heart swelling in her breast. “How long until we leave?”

“I assume we would wait for your father—” He stopped, a hundred voices leaking in from the hall, their footsteps ringing from the stone walls. Not a moment later, the door burst open.

A young woman flew inside, rushing to Belle’s side and sweeping her into a tight hug.

“Oh, Belle,” she said. The woman pulled back, looking up at her with a heart-shaped face and dark, teary eyes. “I’m so sorry. I just can’t _believe_ it.”

Belle watched her for another long moment, then smiled a bit. There was only one woman that could have been this young. “Sophie?” she asked.

“Oh! Yes, sorry,” Sophie said, tucking a thick curl behind her ear and smiling back. She reached for Belle’s hand. “Come on, do you want to see everyone? They’ll understand if you’re not ready, what with…” She trailed off, gripping Belle’s hand hard. “But they do so wish to see you.”

Belle felt her throat closing up again, and she bit her lip hard against fresh tears. She nodded once, letting Sophie guide her into the hall as Gilles followed behind.

She knew it was the same number of people as before, but with their human forms again the servants were overflowing from the main landing and into the adjoining halls. Belle watched them, feeling like a stranger despite the fact that she knew every one of them.

Near the front stood an older woman, hands clasped together. Henri stood beside her, holding a child against his chest.

“He tried to stay up for ya,” Henri whispered. “But it’s pretty far past his bedtime.”

Belle looked down at the sleeping boy in Henri’s arms. _Chip,_ she realized, heart warming at the sight. She turned back to the older woman at their side.

“Hello, love,” the woman said, a distinct accent in her speech.

“Mrs. Potts,” Belle breathed. The woman nodded, pulling her into a warm hug. Belle had to bend down a good ways to receive it, but she held on for a long time.

“Oh, my sweet girl,” Mrs. Potts said as Belle finally pulled away. “You have saved us all.”

Belle bit her lip hard, everything that had happened that night pouring over her again. “No. Adam did.”

“You _both_ did,” a new voice spoke. Belle looked up, a man in a flashy orange jacket sweeping into a deep bow. Reaching for her hand, he planted a long kiss on it before looking up with warm eyes.

“Monsieur Lumiere,” Belle said, managing a small smile.

“Oh! I made it too easy,” he said with a wink. Then he sobered, gazing back at those behind him. Some of them were smiling; others were in tears; still others held looks of firm determination. And somehow, even though she couldn’t tell who was who, Belle could feel that she knew each of them.

Suddenly, the crowds parted as a large woman shoved her way through. She towered over many of the others, finally hobbling out of the crowds and picking Belle up off her feet into a soft, albeit fierce, hug.

“Oh, _mon petit chou!”_ she cried. Her voice was like a song, and resonated off the halls all around them.

“Madame…” Belle said, gasping for breath. “Madame de la Grand Bouche?” she managed. “Is that you?”

 _“Oui,_ dearest, _”_ the woman said, setting Belle back to her feet.  She looked down at her, large tears falling freely from her bright eyes as she ran a hand over Belle’s hair. “Oh, mademoiselle, to think he is not here with you!”

Belle only nodded, sucking in shaky breath and reaching out to embrace the once-wardrobe again.

As they parted, another hand brushed her arm. “Things will be all right in the end, love,” Mrs. Potts said softly.

Belle reached up, feeling fresh wetness on her cheeks; she hadn’t realized she’d started crying again. “I know,” she replied, looking up at the others and feeling her heart swell with conviction despite her tears. “Because we’re going to get Adam back.”

At that, a quiet but strong cheer ran over the crowd. Belle moved towards them, walking through the thick crowds as warm hands and smiles greeted her.

“You can count on us, mademoiselle,” Lumiere said earnestly as he followed. “For anything you may need.”

Belle nodded. She gripped the mirror tight, staring down at it with hard eyes and picking up her pace. “Then the first place we’re going is the library.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maybe nobody cares, but just to cover my butt - I realize that “snogging” is a relatively modern and British term, but I wanted to use something you guys would recognize (cause I know you’ve all read Harry Potter lol). And considering they’d all be speaking French anyway, we can just assume any slang I use would be an equivalent French term from the actual time era.


	22. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An **important technical note for those leaving comments** here or just on AO3 in general – I’ve had a few people mention parts of their comments didn’t show up after posting them here on AO3. So I emailed the Archive and found out that it’s happening when you use **angled brackets,** or what I think of as the “greater than” or “less than” signs (these are interpreted as HTML code) or **emoticons** that the site doesn’t recognize. So maybe avoid those if you can, or just check that it posts okay when you’re done! (I use the little sideways heart thing all the time, and haven’t seen any issues…so idk)

_“Maman.”_

_The queen hummed tiredly, rolling over where she lay._

_“Maman, wake up.”_

_Sighing, Jacqueline opened her eyes. She lay in a bed of grass, surrounded by Alexandre’s gardens, squinting against the sun overhead. “Adam?” she asked, sitting up in an instant and looking around in confusion._

_“Maman, you fell asleep,” he said in amusement. She looked towards him, but the nine year-old prince faced away from her, staring towards woods. Why did they seem so distant?_

_Grinning, he glanced over his shoulder. “Can I show you something?”_

_Before she could respond, he’d taken off on a run towards the trees. Jacqueline stood, picking up her skirts and following quickly. Down a hundred stone steps, winding through a dozen courtyard paths. The skies were growing dark, the grounds abandoned of life. Where had he gotten to so quickly?_

_She reached an archway, pulling open the old iron gate and casting her eyes ahead desperately. Her skin was suddenly freezing, wind whipping through her hair. “Adam!” she called out. “Adam, where are you?”_

_A voice, small and distant, came from behind her. Yet when she turned around, she saw nothing by the empty castle grounds._

_“Maman, I’m right here.” She turned back ahead, where Adam now stood a ways off. He waved at her from the edge of the woods, before ducking behind a large tree._

_The skies were black now, snow beginning to fall all around. “Adam, wait!” she cried, rushing forth as he disappeared into the darkness._

_Her feet felt like ice, and she looked down at them, bare and inches deep in the snow as she ran. Gasping, she looked ahead once again, the trees upon her now, her child already well into the forest’s depths._

_“ADAM!” she shouted in panic. “Adam, stop!”_

_He did, finally, waiting still as stone atop a fallen tree. She pushed through the heavy growth, panting and cold. When she finally reached him, she reached up and grabbed his wrist. “Adam, we **must** go back to the—”_

_Her words died in her throat as he looked back at her. His eyes shown red in the darkness, a terrible smile crossing the child’s face._

_“Hello again, Jacqueline,” he spoke._

_Gasping, the queen released his hand, taking several trembling steps back. “It’s you,” she realized in terror. Adam’s form licked his lips before slowly changing. His hair grew longer and lighter, body taller and more feminine until the enchantress towered over her in the darkness._

_Wolves howled somewhere far too close, and Jacqueline turned towards the sound in fear._

_The enchantress laughed, stepping down gracefully from the tall log. “That was too easy,” she grinned. “Funny, the real prince wasn’t far behind us.”_

_Jacqueline searched the darkness with wide eyes._ Which way back? _she wondered desperately. The journey here hadn’t felt far, but she didn’t recognize anything with the storm now raging all around them. Her heart grew cold as ice, realizing what had seemed a strange dream before was now a very real—and very dangerous—situation._

_The howls were close now. “Well, that’s my cue,” the witch said. She turned towards the frozen pond at her side, crouching down and touching its surface with one thin finger. The ice shuddered briefly, and the reflection of the surrounding trees disappeared._

_Jacqueline’s eyes grew wide. She knew what that meant. The enchantress was about to leave her here, alone to the wolves. And she knew she’d never outrun them alone. “Wait!” she cried desperately. “Please, I—”_

_“Ugh,” the witch said, waving a hand to cut her off. “Spare me your tears. Your life means nothing to me. The fewer of your kind in this world, the better. And with you out of my way…” She stopped, grinning to herself, pressing her palm flat against the ice and watching it glow._

_Jacqueline gasped for breath, mind racing. She thought of Alexandre—of the last kiss they’d shared, soft and quiet and full of the love of a decade. But even more, she thought of Adam, still so young, still so unaware of the hardships of this world. Sucking in a breath, she fell to her knees in the snow. “I would not beg for my own life, Enchantress,” she said, bowing her head. “But please…do not make me abandon my child.”_

_The enchantress froze, hand still hovering over the ice. Then she turned back slowly, breaths hollow, eyes glazed over as though recalling something from long ago. “I…I need you gone,” she whispered, even as she furrowed her brows._

_“Please,” Jacqueline begged. “I can’t leave him!”_

_The enchantress hissed, looking away. “Damn it!” she spat. “I can’t deal with this right now.” Clenching her teeth, she brought two hands to her temples, sharp nails running through her hair. Then, with a noise of frustration, she crouched back beside the pond and slapped a palm against its surface. A deep, ink-like substance seemed to leak from her fingertips, running along the edge of the pond. Though black, it somehow glowed against the surrounding forest._

_Jacqueline started as a hard hand grabbed her arm. The enchantress was at her side, staring down at her with fury. Yet Jacqueline possessed the gift of reading beneath the surface of those she met. And in an instant, she saw past the witch’s rage; for the way her red eyes shook revealed a strange and unexpected vulnerability._

_“I hate these woods,” the witch rasped, almost to herself. She frowned deeply, squeezing her eyes shut for a long moment before sucking in a breath and dragging the queen to her feet. In a second, she’d torn a long strip from Jacqueline’s hem. In another, she’d sliced her sharp nails across the queen’s palm and pressed the torn cloth against it._

_Jacqueline cried out in pain, gripping her hand against her chest and watching the witch toss the bloodied cloth to the ground. She dug a sharp heel against it, burying it deep in the snow._

_“We’ll leave that for Alexandre,” the witch huffed, staring back at Jacqueline with sharp eyes. “Now, get **in,”** she demanded, shoving Jacqueline towards the glowing pond._

_Jacqueline hovered at the edge, reaching out for a low branch to avoid falling into the icy water. “Where—where will it send me?” she asked in fear, clinging to the thin trees on the bank with one frozen hand, the other dripping blood down her dress._

_“I can’t have you here. Not now,” the witch replied vaguely. “But perhaps I’ll find a use for you later.” She stopped, backing up and nodding towards the glowing water. “So,” she went on, “if you don’t want to be eaten by wolves, and if you want any chance to see your precious son again…you’ll do as I say.”_

_The trees rustled behind them. Jacqueline whipped her head back at the sound._

_The witch followed her gaze, looking suddenly nervous herself. “Ugh!” she cried impatiently. “I don’t have time to wait for you.” Reaching into her robes, she dropped something into the snow. A tall, thin object flew towards the treetops, and a moment later she’d passed through it and disappeared._

_Jacqueline heard the growls then, spinning around as her eyes tore into the darkness. Two, then four yellow, hungry eyes stared back at her._

_She pulled hard on the branch she held to, tearing it from its trunk. Holding it aloft with both hands, she ignored the blood and the pain and swung with all her might._

_The pair of wolves backed away. Yet as they did, a dozen more eyes appeared._

_Jacqueline couldn’t breathe. She knew, right then, that she was as good as dead if she stayed. She stared back at the dark, glowing waters behind her, and sucked in a brave breath._

_“Goodbye, Alexandre, my love,” she whispered. “Goodbye, my darling Adam.”_

_Then, stepping onto the ice, she sunk into their depths and vanished._

* * *

Jacqueline gasped for breath. The darkness of night was gone in an instant, a bright winter sun shining overhead. She raised a hand against the harsh rays, letting her eyes adjust to her surroundings.

She was still in the woods, still frozen to the bone. She looked down; her feet were ankle deep in the pond, which was now much smaller than before and no longer frozen. Glancing around, she spotted the large, fallen tree from before—though it seemed more hollow, more broken down than it had the night before.

She forced her feet to move, but only made it to the bank before dropping to her knees. Breathing heavily, she stared at her hands. Her heart flew into her throat at the sight.

Her fingers—something was wrong with them. Though she still wore her wedding band, her hands seemed more wrinkled, nails far too long. Her dark hair rested beside them, pooled in the snow and speckled with long slivers of grey.

Frowning, she lifted her injured hand, fearing infection. But when she turned the palm to face her, she gasped. There was no blood. In fact, there was nothing but a faint, white line along the skin.

“What is this?” she whispered, looking in confusion down at her chemise. Down the front were dark brown stains, not fresh red as the blood should have been after so short a time.

She rested back on her heels, pulling her arms to her chest and shivering like mad. _I need to get back,_ she realized, looking around the woods. Though day, they seemed even more unfamiliar to her than they had the night before.

Taking several breaths, she braced herself against the closest tree and forced herself to her feet. “Alexandre…Adam,” she whispered. “I’m coming.”

* * *

“Belle.”

Belle groaned, shifting where she slept. Papers crinkled beneath her, back aching where she sat hunched over the long library table.

“Belle, wake up.”

She gasped. That voice. It was a bit higher, less raspy than it had once been, but she’d know it anywhere. She sat up in a heartbeat, casting her eyes towards its source. A man stood at the threshold, framed by the tall library doors. He took a step into the light.

Light auburn hair. Bright blue eyes. A nervous, familiar smile.

“Adam?” Belle breathed. Though somehow, she didn’t need to ask to know, pushing herself up and tumbling towards him.

Already at her side, he caught her quickly, lifting her up and off her feet. He grinned, then spun her around once before letting her back down. He was tall, the strength of his former self not entirely gone as he held her close and brushed soft fingers across her cheek.

“How are you here?” Belle asked, blinking back tears of relief.

Adam pulled back, cocking his head. “What do you mean, my love?”

The room grew suddenly dark. “The…the witch,” Belle said, gripping his shirt hard. A terrible wind now pounded against the windows. “She took you!”

“She did?” Adam asked, looking alarmed.

The windows flew open behind them, pummeling them with freezing rain. Rain, and a dozen heavy, golden chains.

They wound up and around his limbs in an instant, that tight shackle around his neck once again. “NO!” Belle shrieked, clinging to him with all her might. Yet it wasn’t enough—for he was quickly torn from her grasp and dragged into the dark, empty sky.

The last thing she saw were his eyes, wide and desperate and frightened.

“Mademoiselle?”

 _“Adam,”_ Belle sobbed. The darkness was all around her, and like a heavy blanket it engulfed her, forcing her to the ground.

“Someone shake her awake.”

Gentle hands touched her shoulders then, and Belle gasped, opening her eyes. She sat in the library as before, but the windows were secured shut, pale sunlight spilling in instead of rain. She squinted her eyes against the light, blinking away tears. She heard a whine beside her, looking down to see Max, paw in her lap and nudging her nervously.

“Belle, are you all right?” a familiar voice asked. Sophie sat beside her, curls now cropped to her shoulders and pulled away from her eyes with a thick ribbon. She bit her lip, and reached for Belle’s hands. “You…you cried out.”

Belle sighed, sitting up slowly and letting her face fall into one hand. “I’m sorry. I must’ve dozed off, and…” She trailed off, noticing a few others lingering nearby with their own looks of concern. Belle swallowed, flushing with embarrassment.

“Shoo! Shoo,” Sophie said, waving them away.

Belle looked back down. She sat at one of the long library tables. No less than three dozen books lay scattered before her, as well as a handful of sketches and several pieces of parchment full of messy notes.

She’d started three nights ago in her bedclothes and slippers, surrounded by the others and starting with clear questions. She’d asked the mirror whether Adam was in France—to which the mist appeared again. She asked if he weren’t in Europe, in Africa, in the Americas, listing every continent, region, and territory they could spot on the library globe. Gilles had then reminded her how the Prussian princess the witch had impersonated so long ago was found on a small, remote island. So she’d tried that—was Adam on an isle of the sea? Was he in a cave, on a mountain, in the desert? Traveling in a caravan, a carriage, a ship?

Yet with each question, she only saw that strange, relentless mist. Adam’s old tutor had even suggested she try asking to see a location a specified distance _away_ from Adam, in hopes the mirror was only restricted to details of the exact location itself.

“Show me the place ten lieues south of Adam _,”_ she’d tried, growing hopeful at the idea. If they could identify the locations around him, it would take a few simple measurements to pinpoint exactly where he was.

Yet, of course, the mirror would not comply. “Twenty lieues,” Belle tried next. “Thirty!”

Yet any question she asked about him, no matter how it was worded, resulted in a blank mirror and every blanker stares from those around her.

“It’s all right,” Belle had said aloud, even through her disappointment. She’d figured it would be more difficult than this, but she’d been hopeful all the same. Sucking in a breath, she looked back at those who had joined her in the library. “I just need you all to tell me everything you know about the enchantress.”

It was the next best place to start, and soon Belle had created several sketches of the woman. The first was her own memory of her from that very evening, monstrous and young and donned in a blood red gown. This version seemed very similar to that described by those who’d caught sight of the enchantress the night the curse was first cast—though no one mentioned the strange, transparent skin Belle had noticed.

Still, unlike her usual sketches of people, Belle paid less attention to the witch’s physical features and more to her state of dress. Given the woman could change her face and body, it seemed more helpful to focus on her choice of attire. And as the images came to life, they started pulling down volumes of texts on regional fashion.

This alone revealed something surprising. The gowns she wore had a bodice layered unlike anything seen in France—but very much like the robes worn in China.

“She did call herself the Enchantress of the East,” Gilles recalled. “But then again, she also told the King he’d harmed her as a child somehow, suggesting she was of French origin.”

Beyond her clothes, they investigated her eyes.

_“It isn’t albinism,” the doctor explained. He sat with Belle at the long library table, along with Gilles, Mrs. Potts, Adam’s old tutor, Sophie, Cogsworth, Lumiere, and even the cardinal. “Those with this condition may appear to have pink eyes, at most,” Mathius went on. “Nothing like the red you describe, mademoiselle. If anything, I would diagnose broken vessels in her eyes, but it seems more mystical than that. Something…inhuman, perhaps.”_

_“Wait a minute,” Sophie said. She looked across the room, where Henri and Chip where sitting before a large, open atlas. She leaned closer to the others, lowering her voice. “Henri mentioned something… Something he heard, that frightened him away from coming here.”_

_Belle frowned. “What was it?”_

_Sophie looked back at Henri and Chip once more. “He wouldn’t want Chip to hear. It was quite…violent.”_

_In hushed tones, Sophie told them the tale from Henri’s old master, of his young nephew found dead in an alleyway, heart torn from his chest in such a way no animal nor human could have been capable of._

_Belle gasped, and Sophie turned towards her quickly. “Oh, Belle! I’m so sorry. I’m sure the master is in no danger of such a thing—”_

_“It’s not that,” Belle said quickly. She looked up at Gilles, who was staring at her like he’d just come to the same conclusion. “It’s just…that’s incredibly similar to the tale the enchantress told me the first time we met.” The tale of a beast, stealing into a damsel’s room and pulling the heart from her chest. A tale Belle had never imagined would be based on something **real.**_

_“You really think it was her, then?” Sophie asked, eyes growing wide. “You think she…” She trailed off, clearly unwilling to speak of the horrifying deed again._

_Belle stared at the dark wooden table for a long moment, then nodded. “I do. How can we use this?”_

_“There should be records of such cases,” the old tutor said gruffly. “And any other strange occurrences in the area. I believe it would be worth investigating.”_

_Belle nodded earnestly. “Let’s continue our research there, then.”_ Perhaps the cases will reveal some kind of pattern of her travels, _she thought._ Perhaps they can lead us to where she’s keeping Adam.

_“Will you be looking into this yourself, mademoiselle?” the tutor asked._

_Belle looked back at the mirror resting still at the center of the table. “Actually, could you oversee that, Professeur? I have something else I’d like to try in the meantime.”_

_As the others departed to investigate, Belle picked up the mirror once again and spoke. “Show me Adam,” she asked. As expected, nothing but a light mist appeared in its surface. But for the first time, it was what she’d been wanting to see._

_Reaching for her drawing utensils—which the others had kindly retrieved from the wagon she’d abandoned, along with the rest of her possessions—Belle pulled aside a fresh parchment and copied the mists, focusing on their shape, noting their movements and speed in the margins. Then she pulled out her watercolors and mixed some together, testing the mixture several times against a scratch piece of parchment until it matched the color of the mists exactly. She painted a good swath of it beside her notes._

_Setting her brush aside, Belle stood and ran to the large desk where library’s handwritten indices, old and new, sat piled high. After some confusion, she decided on the one labeled_ Natural Philosophy. _It was less dense than the other records, but within an hour she’d located three texts that might offer what she needed._

_While the number of books on the topic was few, the texts themselves were thick and dense. Belle struggled through them for some time—the sciences were not something she’d read much of anything about before, and the style and terminology was unfamiliar to her. While Papa had owned a couple books of the sort, the things they described were more mechanical than natural. She wished, absently, that Adam were here to help; she’d caught him with his head in these kinds of books on more than one occasion. Though of course, if he were here they wouldn’t be doing this._

_By late afternoon she managed to locate several useful passages, pouring over them for some time and adding more information to her notes. Finally, as some of the servants started lighting candles to illuminate the now-dark library, Belle looked back over her work, now filled with several more sketches and color patches of the mirror’s mist she’d painted over the course of the day. They showed a very distinct, daily pattern. A pattern in which the mist fell still at some hours and blew hard at others, that changed from a pale grey color to a state where they nearly disappeared into darkness. Belle stared at the drawings, thinking back over all she’d learned that day. Her heart raced as she realized her suspicions had been confirmed._

_This was no mystical, unexplainable mist. It was nothing but a natural fog, and it was their first clue to finding Adam._

“Belle?”

Belle bit he lip hard, staring absently at her hands. _Clouds form on ocean-facing mountainsides,_ she told herself, trying to recall everything she’d managed to read on the subject.  _Fog is nothing more than a low-lying cloud, often found in deep mountainside valleys. To persist all day, and without break, they must have a constant supply of water or moisture that can be penetrated, but not suffocated, by sunlight—_

“Belle, are you all right?”

Blinking, Belle looked up. Sophie was still beside her, looking even more concerned than before. Belle had completely forgotten she was there. How long had she been lost in thought?

“I’m sorry,” she said quickly, shaking her head. “I stayed up with the professor much of last night looking through atlases.” They’d looked through over a dozen, in fact, in search of any locations than could possibly support a never-ceasing fog.

“Last night?” Sophie asked, frowning. “Belle…when’s the last time you slept?”

“Um…”

“You should rest,” Sophie said. “Just for the afternoon, at least.”

“Oh, no,” Belle said, shaking her head. “I’m fine for now.”

“But…it’s been nearly three days. And you never fully recovered from your night in the woods,” Sophie said anxiously.

“Not to mention touched your breakfast,” someone added. Belle looked up, and there was Mrs. Potts, resting a hand on her shoulder and looking pointedly at a bowl of untouched porridge atop a stack of parchment.

Belle grimaced.

“Love,” Mrs. Potts went on gently. “Let the others continue for now, and get some good sleep.”

“I _am_ sleeping,” Belle insisted, motioning towards a nearby sofa where a couple mangled pillows, Adam’s robe, and a pair of small slippers sat unattended.

“I meant in a real bed, dear,” Mrs. Potts clarified.

“No, no,” Belle said matter-of-factly, looking back at the book she’d fallen asleep over. “The West Wing is on the opposite side of the castle. It’s too far to traverse back and forth,” she went on, eyes wide and unblinking as they continued to scan the page before her.

“I thought you might say so, and as such we’ve prepared you a room in the next hall over.”

Belle bit her lip, mind grasping for any other excuse. But her thoughts were moving much slower than normal, so instead she simply turned back to the text before her and hoped Mrs. Potts might simply give up. Yet her eyes didn’t seem to want to focus as they should.

It seemed Mrs. Potts wouldn’t give up so easily anyway, for she’d soon settled in the chair beside her. She reached out, resting a hand over Belle’s own, pulling the quill from her fingertips and resting it back in its jar.

“Dear, you must let yourself _rest,”_ Mrs. Potts said softly.

Belle felt the pressure against her eyes, so she squeezed them shut. Tears would only blur her vision further. “I can’t, Mrs. Potts,” she admitted. “Every moment I waste is a moment Adam has to…” She trailed off. A moment he had to _what?_ Suffer a horrible transformation alone? Suffer whatever terrible things the enchantress had planned for him? She shook her head roughly. “How can I rest when he’s still in her power?” Belle asked, shaking her head roughly. “No. I can’t. And I’m…I’m sorry about the porridge,” she added, thoughts growing absent again.

Mrs. Potts patted her hand, while Sophie wrapped a gentle arm around her shoulders. “We understand. But just think,” she said, raising a finger. “A nice nap, and a walk in the sunshine—it’ll get your mind back to full speed. You’ll get twice as much done as you can right now.”

Belle looked back at the words on the page before her. Still fuzzy. “Perhaps a small nap would be helpful,” she admitted.

“And a walk.”

Belle nodded. “And a brisk walk. But that’s it.”

“Of course, love,” Mrs. Potts winked.

* * *

Four hours later, Belle awoke to another nightmare.

She still felt Adam’s warmth all around her, that burning heat that caused him to tremble as he clung to her with weak arms and fought the agony of his transformation. Belle squeezed her eyes shut, but couldn’t stop the quiet tear that fell down one cheek.

“I should be with you,” she whispered, heart aching at the thought of him alone in such pain.

Her regrets drove her now as she quickly got up and redressed. Despite her stubbornness earlier, Belle had to give Mrs. Potts credit—she did feel better.

She was back to the library in a few minutes, settling down at the desk and looking over her mess of notes that had, thankfully, been left untouched.

“Ah, Belle,” a voice said behind her. “Ready for that walk, then?”

She grimaced, turning around to see Gilles standing straight as a board at her side. “Oh, right,” she said. She pursed her lips, then went on. “Mmm…you don’t think we could not and say we did…do you Gilles?” she tried, attempting her best and most innocent smile.

“I fibbed to Mrs. Potts once,” he replied. He grimaced, be it ever so slightly. “It did not end well for me.”

Belle raised a brow, terribly curious at what that could mean, but instead she took the opportunity to slip a few notes into her satchel and sling it over her shoulder. “Well, let’s be off, then.”

The promised walk turned into a ride.  _If we ride, we can go the same distance in less time—Mrs. Potts doesn’t need to know I went on horseback, after all,_ Belle thought. Though in truth, she was anxious to see Philippe now that she’d been forced outside the castle. For while she knew the others were tending to him, she felt some guilt for not going to see him since he’d nearly frozen to death in the woods on her behalf.

Philippe was quite apt to hold a grudge, but perhaps he sensed Belle’s distress for he only drooped a grateful head over her shoulder in greeting. Belle soon felt another nudge against her back, turning around to see Olive in the next stall. The mare stared at Belle for a long moment, then turned back, hanging her head over her gate and looking towards the door as though expecting someone to appear.

It took Belle great effort not to burst into tears on the spot—for she knew exactly who Olive was waiting to see. And he wasn’t coming.

Sucking in a breath, she turned back to Philippe. “You need to rest some more, huh?” Belle asked him. He gave a reluctant huff, and Belle turned back towards Adam’s horse. “How does a ride sound, Olive?”

The horse perked up at that, so Belle quickly saddled her and began to guide her out the door.

“Belle!” someone cried. She looked up, where Chip was watching her from his father’s arms. Beside them stood a tall horse with a deep black coat.

“Belle, I got my own horse! And he lets me pet him,” Chip said in excitement, managing to lift one arm and place a weak hand on the horse’s side. Henri reached up to help him brush his hand back and forth, and in response the stallion turned back and nuzzled Chip’s cheek. The boy giggled with delight.

Belle smiled at the sight, even as she furrowed her brows in confusion. “Henri…that horse…”

He looked a bit sheepish. “Oh, er…do you know him, Belle?”

She nodded slowly. “I’m…well, I’m quite certain it belonged to Gaston.”

Henri’s eyes grew dark. “That bast—” He stopped, remembering his ten year-old son was listening, and coughed roughly into one fist. “I mean, that seems about right. You think it’s all right if we keep ‘im here? Poor fella had a rough go of it with that bloke, it seems.”

It was then Belle caught sight of the long bandages wrapped across the horse’s belly. She moved over slowly, and ran her fingers through the animal’s mane. “He wasn’t very nice to you either, was he?” she whispered.

The horse leaned into her strokes, closing his eyes.

“Yes,” she said at last. “I definitely think he should stay here.”

“Do you know his name, Belle?” Chip asked.

She smiled a bit, looking back at them. “I believe it was Magnifique,” Belle replied. “Though that seems a bit…formal, to me.”

“Mmm…” Chip said, pursing his lips. Then his eyes brightened. “What if I call him Maggy?”

Henri chuckled. “Sounds fine by me.”

0000000

A quarter hour later, Belle and Gilles were a good ways into the woods.

“Ah!” Gilles said, slowing his own steed to the place Belle had stopped. “I admit, it’s quite refreshing to be the rider instead of the sword.”

Belle glanced towards the ridge just ahead. “I’d like to explore by foot for a bit,” she said. “Will you stay with Olive?”

“Of course,” he replied. “But don’t veer too far.”

Falling to her feet, Belle pulled her satchel from the saddle bags and handed the reins to Gilles. Then, climbing up and over the short ridge, she spotted an old, fallen tree tucked in the shadows. Belle sat promptly, pulled the satchel onto her lap, and tugged out her notes and the enchanted mirror.

For in truth, she had no intention to explore anything but these clues to finding Adam.

She looked over her sketches of that fog—a dozen of them, piled in her lap. Each a slightly different color, some completely black all together while some were as light as the midday sky. Belle closed her eyes, pressing her fingers against her temple as she thought.

“Wait a minute,” she said at last, spreading the pages across her lap. Naturally, the colors grew lighter and darker, following the pattern of the sun. This, of course, had only supported her theory that these were a natural phenomenon. But this wasn’t all they told her.

 _The sun…the sun sets at different times around the world,_ she recalled, heart racing. If she knew what time the fog in the mirror grew dark, she could line that up with the sunset and narrow down Adam’s location significantly.

Heart racing, Belle looked over her notes, and grimaced—she hadn’t written down the times of each drawing. In fact, she’d been so focused on her work she’d hardly paid attention to whether it was night or day when she’d done the sketches.

 _I’ll redo them,_ she thought fiercely. _I’ll redo them, take careful note of the time, then with the professeur’s help we can determine the approximate longitude of the earth where—_

Something rustled in the trees, breaking her thoughts. Belle’s head snapped up, squinting in the shadows until she caught a figure emerging slowly from the brush. Belle slipped behind the fallen tree where she sat, anxious not to be spotted by a passing stranger. For while the others were human once again, they’d decided not to announce themselves to the world just yet. Such would only be an invitation for King Victor to come stake claim of the palace.

Holding her breath, Belle watched the stranger hobble slowly her direction. She soon made out a woman’s figure, and as she came closer, Belle realized she was barefoot and covered in dried blood.

“Sacre _bleu,”_ Belle gasped, abandoning all caution as she stood and rushed over quickly. “Madame!” she cried, tugging off her cloak and draping the heavy fabric over the woman’s shoulders. “Madame, are you—” Belle stopped, heart in her throat as the woman looked up at her.

Those eyes—those were _Adam’s_ eyes.

“Mademoiselle,” the woman breathed, eyes closing as she gripped Belle’s arm with a weak, trembling hand. “Please…I need to reach the palace…”

“The palace…” Belle repeated, still in shock. Before she could say more, the woman’s legs gave out and she collapsed her arms.

“Madame!” Belle cried, holding her close and slowly lowering them both to the ground. Sucking in a breath, she turned back towards the trail. “Sire Gilles!” she shouted. “Gilles, please—help us!”

He was already running towards them, dropping to the ground and helping Belle support the woman. “Belle, what’s—” He stopped, eyes growing wide as the woman looked up at him.

“Oh, Gilles,” she breathed in relief. “Thank goodness.”

Gilles only stared at her, unbreathing for a long moment. “It can’t be…” he whispered at last.

“Alexandre…” the woman went on, closing her eyes again. “Adam. I fear they’re in danger. The enchantress…she was…here…” She trailed off, fatigue overcoming her and leaving her unconscious in their arms.

Gilles remained motionless, staring at the woman in utter shock. Belle, for her part, could barely comprehend what had just been said. But there wasn’t time to think on such things now.

“Gilles,” she said earnestly. “We have to get her back!”

He shook his head roughly, staring back at Belle for an instant before nodding. “Yes, yes of course. Forgive me,” he said, tearing off his own cloak and carefully wrapping the woman’s frozen legs and feet before lifting her up into his arms. They ran back to the horses, and Belle helped settle the woman in Gilles’ lap before lifting herself into her own saddle.

They rode swiftly against the growing shadows, and Belle watched Gilles ahead, the woman’s long, dark hair flowing in the wind. The ride back let her think, sent her heart racing again at what she had heard. This woman…she’d spoken of the enchantress, and King Alexandre. And more than that, she’d spoken of Adam, and looked at Belle with his very eyes.

Belle’s heart thundered in her chest as one conclusion flooded her thoughts. _That’s impossible,_ she told herself, gripping the reins hard as she followed them through the front gates. 

Gilles was already to the ground, racing up the steps, and Belle followed. People were shouting, others catching sight of the woman and crying out in shock as Gilles passed her to a stronger servant.

“Could it be?” one of them gasped.

“Is it she?”

Belle watched in some helplessness as the woman was rushed to a nearby room, as Mrs. Potts and Madame de la Grande Bouche and the doctor and a half-dozen other women rushed inside. The door finally shut behind them, leaving Belle staring at it in shock.

Slowly, she reached into her satchel, tugging out the beautiful sketchbook that she still kept by her side and turning to one of its pages. A sketch of Adam and his parents, mimicked from one of the castle paintings. The likeness of his mother stared up at her—the very face of the woman behind those doors.

Someone was beside her. Gilles, folding his quaking hands before his back, stared down at the sketch in Belle’s hands.

“It’s her…isn’t it?” she asked hollowly, looking up at him.

“Yes,” he stated. He looked back at the closed doors, and took a deep breath. “It seems our queen has returned to us.”

* * *

The next morning, Belle sat once again in the library. She held a drawing compass in one hand, several careful measurements drawn on the map before her. In theory, the light and dark periods of the mirror’s fog _should_ line up with the sun’s rise and fall, and using this she was quite certain she could determine at least the longitudinal slice of the earth where Adam must be.

Yet, of course, this task was far too arduous for Belle at the moment. Those few who remained in the library were even more distracted than herself, whispering in the corners and glancing towards the door every few minutes. 

 _I can’t believe it’s her,_ Belle thought for the hundredth time. Adam’s mother, alive. Her heart sunk into her chest as she realized he wasn’t even here to see her. Sucking in a breath, Belle tried to focus again on her work. _The sooner we find him to sooner they can be reunited—_

The door creaked then, and her head shot up—but it was only the old professeur returning to the room. Belle sighed, distracted again.

 _What will she think of me?_ she wondered. From what anyone could tell, Jacqueline had no recollection of a day since her supposed death. To her, Adam should still be a nine year-old child. Would she accept that he was now fully grown? That Belle loved him? That because of her…he was gone?

_Belle, don’t for a moment believe this your fault._

Belle remembered his words, touching her chest where Adam’s letter was tucked against her heart. She squeezed her eyes shut.

“Belle?”

“Yes?” she asked quickly, looking up again. It was Gilles. 

“Queen Jacqueline wishes to speak with you,” he said.

“Me?” Belle asked. Why was she so nervous? She shook her head. “I mean…how is she doing?”

“She is well,” Gilles said. He still appeared unsettled, though more composed than before. “Not including the last few hours, she recalls nothing since the night she disappeared. Docteur Mathius believes it’s a case of amnesia.”

Belle frowned. “But…how did she get here, then?” she wondered aloud. “And all those years ago…you searched the forest for days, didn’t you? Where could she have gone?”

Gilles stopped, eyes growing nervous again. “Nowhere,” he answered. “There was nowhere she could have gone. We combed that forest through, searched every village in the province, and beyond. Perhaps someone stole her away, but it seems impossible that they could have escaped us. Every soldier was searching within an hour of Prince Adam’s last sighting of her. Impossible,” he gasped, shaking his head. “It’s impossible…”

They continued down the corridor, reaching the room within which the queen had been quickly settled into and cared for. Belle entered quietly, and Gilles followed, shutting the door and standing there in silence. Beside the bed sat Mrs. Potts who, upon seeing Belle enter, turned and smiled. A strange smile, like she herself was still in complete bewilderment at what was happening.

The woman in the bed caught sight of Belle, and her eyes brightened. “You are Belle,” she said earnestly, beckoning her over. “The one my son loves, no?”

Belle blinked, staring at her in surprise. She stepped over slowly. “I…”

“Please, forgive me for not calling for you sooner,” the queen said, sitting up further as Belle sat carefully on the edge of the bed. “Mrs. Potts explained everything, but I admit…it’s been quite a lot to take in. To think it’s been so long… To think he’s now a man…” She stopped, swallowing roughly, looking quite close to tears. In fact, now that Belle was beside her, she noticed Jacqueline’s eyes were lined with red. No doubt she’d been crying already.

In fact, the way the queen’s eyes wrinkled in grief, the fold in her brow—it was so similar to Adam’s expression that Belle couldn’t help the way her breath caught at the sight of it. She reached tentatively for her hand, and Jacqueline didn’t pull away.

“You really are lovely,” the queen said. “And intelligent, and so kind—even if Mrs. Potts hadn’t told me, I could tell already. It’s no wonder he loves you.”

Belle flushed. She’d heard Queen Jacqueline had a special way of lifting those around her, but it still surprised her. She smiled, feeling much more at ease.

“Please…will you tell me about him?” the queen went on. “I believe you must know him best.”

“Oh,” Belle said in surprise. “Oh yes, of course, Your Majesty.”

“No,” she said firmly, squeezing Belle’s hand. “No, you must call me Jacqueline.”

Belle stared at her, feeling a strange sense of déjà vu and an accompanying memory.

_“Belle…no more Master. Please.”_

_“Well, all right then. Just Adam it is.”_

If felt so long ago, but Belle recalled it like it had happened yesterday. She nodded, feeling a new warmth towards the woman beside her, suddenly realizing Adam was who he was at least in part because of her. Suddenly feeling like a small part of him was still here.

Belle sensed the others depart from the room, and she began to speak. She started from the beginning, of Adam’s gift to her father and how she’d found this place and learned of the curse on its occupants. She hesitated as she approached her growing relationship with Adam, but Jacqueline seemed so anxious to hear all she could of him that Belle couldn’t help but go on.

Sometime later, Jacqueline sat with Belle’s notebook open in her lap. _“Beautiful,”_ she said, turning the page. “This was his form, then?”

Belle nodded.

Jacqueline stared at it for a long moment. A look of hurt, or perhaps regret, crossed her face. However, she soon managed a smile, resting her fingers carefully beside the drawing. “I can tell it’s him, in a way. He looks happy.” She sighed, closing the book and looking towards the window. “Mathius says I have amnesia,” she went on. “But I just can’t believe it. My clothes…my clothes were just the same as the other night. Or…what I recall being the other night.” She stopped, looking down and staring into her lap.

“My queen,” Gilles said quietly. He’d returned some minutes before, now standing guard in the shadows. “May I offer some insight?”

“Please, Sire Gilles,” Jacqueline said earnestly.

He stepped forward slowly. “When the king and I located the Prussian princess, it felt…similar,” he said. “Despite having been missing for months, found on a remote island hundreds of lieues away from her homeland, her clothing was unsoiled, not a hair out of place. It shouldn’t have been possible.”

Jacqueline stared at him. “What does this mean?” she breathed.

They sat in silence for several long minutes. Across the room, Gilles frowned deeply, while beside Belle the queen breathed deeply and stared at her hands.

“The enchantress uses mirrors to travel between locations,” Belle finally said, thinking aloud, pulling the enchanted mirror from her waist. “Just like this mirror can show us different places.”

Jacqueline watched her in some puzzlement, but didn’t speak. “This was Adam’s,” Belle explained. “It can show us anything in the world. But it’s not just that—I recently learned it can show me different times as well.” She looked up then, eyes growing wide. “So perhaps, in the same way, the witch uses reflections not only to travel through space…but through _time.”_

The other two were silent for a long moment. “You mean…I didn’t just forget?” Jacqueline asked at last. “I simply…skipped those years all together?”

Belle pursed her lips, then nodded. “I think so.”

Gilles scowled. “I don’t like this,” he said frankly. “I don’t like this at all.”

A shadow fell over her then, and Belle looked up. The sun had fallen beneath the tree line, bathing the room in shadows. As it did, a feeling of déjà vu washed over her. Memories of sundials, of holding the mirror and looking into the past, of realizing it didn’t have to show her the present moment alone.

“Of _course,”_ she whispered. She’d been so focused on finding out where Adam was _now,_ she’d completely forgotten to make use of the mirror’s ability to show her things from the past. She held the mirror up, staring at it and thinking hard. It could show her the past, but what question to ask?

“I feel like there should be something from the past that can help us find them,” she said. “But what?”

Jacqueline rubbed her temple as she thought, just like Adam did. Then she looked up. “The enchantress did say something—that she hated these woods, which struck me as odd. Perhaps that could help?”

Belle looked back at the mirror. “Can you show me what made the enchantress hate these woods?” she tried.  The mirror remained blank, and Belle hummed. The witch had blocked other questions about herself, it seemed. She grit her teeth, but tried again.

“Is there…is there _anything_ from the enchantress’s past you can show me?” she asked. “Anything from the past that can help us?”

Belle had nearly given up on the question when the mirror began to glow. Jacqueline gasped beside her, and Gilles moved over for a look. Belle watched with wide eyes.

She couldn’t have anticipated what she’d see next.

* * *

_Within a candlelit tent, a small, ancient woman sat cross-legged on the floor. Beneath her lay a worn rug, woven with patterns of plum blossoms and intricate, winding shapes. She sat on a thin cushion, hands propped upon a low table on which rested a mirror with a bright, silver-carved handle._

_The tent flap opened, and a small head peeked inside._

_The old woman grinned. “Come in, child.”_

_A girl, barely more than skin and bones, stepped hesitantly through the opening. She was pale-eyed, hair that had once been blond now grimy and matted against her neck. In one arm she held a basket filled with vibrant, blooming roses._

_“Rose, Madame?” the child asked quietly. She stared over the woman’s head, focusing absently on a point across the room._

_The woman raised a brow. “Oh, my. And where did you find such beautiful flowers in the middle of winter?”_

_The girl’s eyes grew wide, and she began to back away._

_“Don’t be frightened, I mean no harm,” the old woman said. “In fact, I’ve been expecting you, little one.”_

_“…Me?”_

_The woman hummed in agreement. “Now, though I have no coin, I would be willing to give you your fortune for a single rose.”_

_The girl’s eyes brightened, and she nodded. Setting down her basket, she felt for the table and sat herself on the cushion opposite the old fortuneteller._

_“What is your name, little one?” she asked._

_The girl hesitated, but after a moment she answered. “Circe.”_

_The woman brought her hands together and ducked her head. “An interesting name, indeed. I myself was given none at birth, though my first master did call me Huiliang.”_

_“Hooyooeee…” Circle tried, scrunching up her face._

_The woman only laughed. “It’s all right, young mademoiselle. Most of your people cannot speak it either. Instead, you may call me Agathe.”_

_“Agathe?” the child asked. “Why?”_

_“Both names mean ‘good,’” Agathe explained. She chuckled to herself. “And I try to live up to it.”_

_Circe cocked her head, but didn’t reply. Picking up the mirror, Agathe touched its surface and watched the image. Before looking ahead, it was always best to look into the past, which she did now._

_It showed the girl before her, stranded in the woods, overcome with fatigue and falling asleep on the cold ground. A bright circle surrounded her, forming a wall of roses that grew up and around her as she slept. The plant was dense, shielding the child from the winds and hiding her from curious predators._

_The image changed, a flash of scenes passing the mirror’s surface. It showed the girl growing, slowly finding her way to this city, teaching herself to cultivate the beautiful roses and selling them for a living in the streets of Paris._

_“Ah,” Agathe spoke at last. “Just as I thought.”_

_She paused, willing the vision to move ahead. Now, it showed a smiling Circe beside Agathe herself, one small hand stretched forth and glowing, though the image soon disappeared. Fate was never certain, after all, and anything could happen. But for now, the future seemed bright enough._

_“What is it?” Circe asked nervously, after waiting some time with no explanation. “What do you see?!”_

_Smiling, Agathe lowered the mirror and looked into the child’s cloudy eyes. “You are like me,” she whispered._

_“Like you?” Circe asked, frowning. She looked suspicious._

_Agathe leaned forward. “You can work magic, can you not?”_

_Circe gasped, still staring absently at a point just past the old enchantress’s shoulder. “I…I think so. You can too?”_

_Agathe grinned again. “Indeed, I can. For I am known by yet another name—the Enchantress of the East.” She paused, cocking her head. “Would you like to see?”_

_Circe frowned again, eyes narrowing in distrust as she stared at the table between them._

_“I won’t hurt you,” Agathe promised. “But if you do not wish to see—”_

_“No!” Circe said quickly. “I’m sorry. I…I want you to show me.”_

_Nodding, Agathe reached forward and held the child’s hand tight. In an instant, the fog in her eyes faded, showing the bright, emerald eyes beneath._

_Circe blinked once, then twice, now staring straight at Agathe’s face. “I…” she breathed, turning to look around the small space in amazement. “I can see!”_

_Agathe smiled, feeling a surge of power build in her chest. “Yes, child. I am glad.”_

_Circe stared at her hands, turning them over twice, then picked up one of the long roses from her basket and smiled. “It’s so pretty,” she said to herself._

_Agathe watched her for a moment. “Yes, it is,” she said. “But don’t let your new eyes deceive you, child—for beauty is found within.”_

_Circe didn’t seem to hear her, touching the soft petals of the flower and smiling ear to ear. Agathe chuckled, reaching for her hand again. “Now, I promised you a fortune, did I not?”_

_Circe blinked, then nodded._

_“I see myself becoming your teacher,” Agathe said. “Or_ Sifu, _in my home tongue.”_

_“Sifu,” Circe repeated._

_“Very good. That’s an easy one,” Agathe smiled. “In fact, in time you can hone your magic to say my real name too, and any word in any language you wish.”_

_“Really? Even without practice?”_

_“Mmhmm,” Agathe said. “I’m using such a power to speak to you now.”_

_Circe’s mouth formed a small ‘o’ in surprise._

_“There is much to learn, but I would be happy to teach you,” Agathe went on. “It has been many years since I’ve seen another of our kind, and I have never had my own apprentice before. It could be quite an adventure!”_

_The corner of Circe’s mouth curled up at that. “You’ll take me away from this place?”_

_“I would indeed prefer it,” Agathe replied._

_Circe paused a minute. Another flash of distrust crossed her eyes, but in the end she nodded her head. “Okay,” she said simply._

_Just then, they heard a commotion outside the tent. Men were yelling above the sounds of others packing up their wares and rushing down the street._

_“The police,” Circe said in fear. “We have to go! They don’t like us here—”_

_Before she could finish, the tent flap had flown open. Two tall men stormed in, and one caught Circe by the arm._

_“You,” he said. “We’ve been looking for you, filthy urchin. Florist ain’t happy you’ve been stealing his roses.”_

_“I didn’t steal them!” Circe cried, tugging in vain against his hold._

_“Sure you didn’t,” the other said, looking over the tent in disgust and straightening his wide-brimmed hat. “Ugh, vagabonds and foreigners. We outta burn this district to the—” He stopped, and in a heartbeat, disappeared. His hat sat suspended in air for a long moment, then flopped to the ground._

_Circe stared at the scene in disbelief, then turned back quickly as the man beside her disappeared the same way. His coat was all that remained, piling atop the rug in a heap._

_“Where **do** they expect the poor to live, I wonder?” Agathe said to herself. She pulled back a hand, which still glowed faintly in the dark room, and touched the rug where she sat. It shrank in an instant, along with the small table and the other little trinkets lining the tent. Agathe gathered them into the palm of her hand, placing them deep in the pocket of her robes. Then, standing slowly onto old, tired feet, she picked up the silver mirror and turned back to her new apprentice. “Shall we go, then?” she asked, reaching out a hand. “They won’t stay like that for long, after all.”_

_Circe was still staring at her, unblinking. Then, after a moment of hesitation, she walked over and grasped Agathe’s old, wrinkled fingers._

_Agathe held the mirror’s handle tight, letting the object grow. Once it was large enough for the two of them, she turned back to the girl. “It’s been some time since I was in my own land. Shall we go there first?”_

_Circe only nodded, gripping her fingers tighter._

_The glass began to change, showing a landscape of greens and golds. Agathe smiled broadly, feeling younger than she had in decades. “Then let’s be off!”_

* * *

_“Sifu? Why can we do magic?”_

_In one of the forgotten villages of rural China, Agathe sat with her new apprentice near the top of a short ridge, overlooking the rolling hills. The rice terraces were bright green beneath the sun, a dozen workers in wide-brimmed hats bent over and spotting the winding rows. It had been but a day since they’d arrived, and Circe had sat watching the scene before them for a long time, the world and its beauty still new to her eyes._

_“I don’t know why some are blessed with magic and others are not,” Agathe admitted. “But I do know **how** it manifests in those who are.”_

_“How?” Circe asked, finally looking back at her._

_“Across this world, children are…” She stopped. She was going to say abandoned, but didn’t want to upset the child now watching her with wide eyes. “Children are…lost, every day,” she said instead. “It is in that instance that the powers, if present, will manifest to protect them.”_

_Circe looked at her feet. “Like when Papa left,” she stated. “My roses protected me.”_

_Agathe nodded sadly. Perhaps she didn’t need to hide the truth after all. “Yes. But there is much more you can do than that.”_

_Circe’s eyes brightened, and she looked back up. “Like what?”_

_Agathe stood, and Circe followed, bouncing on her toes in anticipation. “There are three main methods you may use to avoid danger,” Agathe began. “Let’s start with the first.” She held up a finger, and gave it a flick. “Step forward, Circe.”_

_The girl did as she was told, but stopped before she could finish the step. “Hey,” she said, frowning and feeling the air before her. “I can’t go through!”_

_“Indeed,” Agathe said, flicking one finger and releasing the wall again. “A hidden wall. It can secure your shelter from intruders, or simply protect you from anyone who might mean you harm. This is the first method, and is often the best way to avoid trouble in the first place.”_

_Circe’s eyes brightened further. “What else?” she asked earnestly._

_Agathe hummed in amusement. The child was certainly eager. She pulled the hand mirror from her robes, and handed it to Circe. “Hold this, and please don’t drop it.” Circe nodded, and Agathe reached forward and touched the handle. “Contain me,” she commanded. In an instant, her body disappeared._

_“Sifu?” Circe asked, looking around the empty road and starting to panic. “S-sifu, come back!” she sobbed._

_“I’m not gone, Circe,” she said calmly. “I’m in your very hands.”_

_Circe gasped, looking down. “You’re…you’re in the mirror?”_

_Agathe laughed. “Release me,” she ordered, and found herself back on her feet. Circe looked at her with eyes round as saucers. “That’s a fun trick, is it not?”_

_Circe nodded, starting to smile. “That’s like what you did to those mean men.”_

_Agathe chuckled, but went on. “If perchance you need to hide, you may do so with any object of your choosing, as I have done here. And yes, you may also cast the spell upon others—they’ll inhabit whatever they are touching while you flee.”_

_“Wow,” Circe said in awe. Her lips grew into a lopsided smile. “That could be kind of funny too, huh?”_

_“Now, don’t go getting any ideas.”_

_Circe only grinned wider, looking back at the mirror in amazement before back up at her teacher. “And the last way?”_

_“You’ve already seen that, child,” Agathe said. “It’s how we came here, after all. When all else fails, seek your own reflection and you can escape.”_

_Circe nodded. Then she turned back around, looking over the green fields once again. It was several minutes before she spoke. “Sifu,” she said quietly. “What happened to you?”_

_“To me?”_

_The girl nodded. “You said magic comes to those who are lost. Were you lost too?”_

_Agathe stared over the landscape, an old hurt in her chest. “These people, like much of the world, often fail to see the worth of a deformed child,” she explained. She looked back down, and smiled sadly. “I was left on the road, not too far from here.”_

_Circe frowned. “Deformed?”_

_“I was born with a misshapen lip,” Agathe explained, pointing to the old scar. “I’ve long since healed it, though I kept the mark to remind myself of my origins. Fortunately, another of our kind found me, and cared for me until I could do so myself.”_

_“So…did you sell roses too?” Circe asked._

_Agathe smiled. “No, little one. I told fortunes. We may share many powers, but we each have those unique to us as well.”_

_Circe pouted, reaching into her pocket and pulling forth a single rose. It seemed to have bloomed there of its own accord. Quite impressive, though the girl herself only looked disappointed. “Seeing the future seems a lot better than flowers,” she huffed._

_Agathe chuckled. “I can’t see everything, Circe. The future is always changing, after all. And who knows,” she added with a grin. “There could be more to those roses than meets the eye.”_

* * *

_“Sifu, um…what are we doing here?”_

_Agathe held her robes up in two hands, stepping carefully across several old boards laid in the mud that formed a path through the small village. Well, perhaps calling it mud was being generous. Circe followed behind, holding her nose closed in one hand and the bundle of her skirt in the other._

_“Before you can learn anything new, you must learn to grow and store your magic,” Agathe explained._

_Circe looked around, raising a brow. “Okay…”_

_They reached a small hut, and entered quietly. The room was filled with far too many people than should have been possible, lying in heaps and breathing raspy, dying breaths._

_Agathe knelt down, and rolled up her sleeves. “Where do you think our magic comes from, Circe?” she whispered, though it wouldn’t matter if the others heard. These people were far too ill to make sense of her words._

_Circe shrugged. “I don’t know.”_

_Agathe reached out, touching the hand of a small boy near their feet. His skin regained its rich color in an instant, and soon he was awake and staring up at them with dark eyes. “Magic is nothing but love in a new form,” Agathe explained._

_Circe raised a brow._

_Agathe hummed, moving onto the boy’s mother. “The great and beautiful irony of life is the more we give of ourselves, the more we gain back,” she said. “Such is true for all people. But for you and I, it goes further. For when we express love, our magic itself strengthens.”_

_Now Circe looked interested. “Really?” she asked eagerly. “So if I learn to heal people, and I’ll get stronger?”_

_“Healing is how I choose to care for the world,” Agathe explained. “But love comes in many forms. You may find your own preferred method.”_

_Circe pursed her lips, but nodded._

_“From our beginnings, you and I were denied the love no child should live without,” Agathe went on solemnly. “But if we can prove to love others in spite of this, we are rewarded greatly. Do you understand?”_

_Circe narrowed her eyes. “I guess.”_

_Agathe sensed the child’s doubts, but didn’t push the issue. It may take time to help her understand, but she had high hopes her new student would come to see the truth in time._

* * *

_“Sifu, look at this.”_

_Agathe pressed the pestle into the mix once more, scraping the spices over their dinner above the fire before turning around. Yet instead of her apprentice, a dark-haired woman stood before her. She was one of the younger mothers from the village, though in a second she glowed and grew into a new form. The form of her apprentice—now a fifteen year-old with long, golden hair and already several inches taller than herself._

_“Circe,” Agathe said in shock. “How…how did you manage this?”_

_Circe smirked. “It was easy. I just held her hand while saying goodbye and somehow I could… **feel** her form come into me.”_

_Agathe wasn’t sure why, but she felt uneasy. “That is…quite advanced, Circe.”_

_Circe only grinned further. “And fun. I met her husband on the way back. He kissed me flat on the mouth!” she laughed._

_“Circe!” Agathe cried in shock, rising to her feet. She couldn’t believe her ears. “How can you laugh at such a thing? That is someone’s form, someone’s life you’ve stolen. How dare you abuse such a power!”_

_“Ugh,” Circe said, rolling her eyes and turning away. “You’re just jealous you can’t do the same.”_

_Agathe stared at Circe, at a loss for words. Did she even know the girl who stood before her anymore? When she finally managed to speak, her words empty and cold. “You will not perform such a spell again,” she ordered. “Do you understand?”_

_Circe looked back, wrinkling her nose. But her features soon relaxed, and she stared at the floor in defeat. “Fine.”_

* * *

_A year passed, then another, and Circe’s power only grew stronger. Unnaturally strong. In some ways, Agathe was proud of her. She had remained obedient, abiding to her lessons with diligence. But the old enchantress couldn’t shake the feeling that her young pupil was hiding something._

_So one night, she pulled the hand mirror from her pocket, and asked to see Circe’s future once again. She hadn’t looked in years, for a reason she couldn’t explain._

_Perhaps she was afraid to know._

_It was a mistake to wait so long, however. For what she saw was anything but the bright future she’d hoped for. The mirror’s predictions were always based on an individual’s current path, their current choices. And if what she saw now was right, Circe was involved in something terrible._

_Minutes later, Agathe was out back, throwing open their small storage shed. Inside she found a couple, mouth to mouth, the man’s tunic held tightly in the young woman’s grip, a dozen roses blooming in her hair. Releasing him at the sound, the girl looked back, and narrowed her eyes._

_They glowed a pale red in the darkness._

_“Circe,” Agathe breathed. For she knew it was her—she’d seen as much in the mirror. “What…what have you done?”_

_Circe’s body returned to its original shape and form, though her eyes remained that same, strange red. She let the man fall limp to the ground. “You told me to find a form of love to strengthen my powers,” Circe shrugged. “Well, I found one.”_

_“Th-this isn’t love, Circe,” Agathe whispered, old limbs trembling in sorrow, in betrayal. “This is **lust.”**_

_“But it makes me so much stronger than anything else can,” Circe insisted. “Besides, he’s a known thief!”_

_“That doesn’t matter,” Agathe said. “And while you might feel stronger now, it will never last.” She took a step forward, looking up into those strange, red eyes. “The eyes tell all. You cannot hide what you are becoming,” she said solemnly. “Dark magic always bears a mark, Circe. You must stop this, or it will consume you.”_

_Circe stared right back at her, red eyes full of rage. “No,” she snarled. “I won’t let you hold me back any longer!”_

_Agathe watched her for a long moment. How could she have let this happen? How did she not foresee this long ago? “You’ve gone behind my back,” she said, closing her eyes. It hurt to do, but she went on. “You’ve twisted everything I’ve taught you. And as such…I can no longer be your teacher.”_

_Circe’s expression changed in an instant. “You’re going to leave me,” she whispered, eyes growing wide and desperate. “Just like he did.”_

_“Leave you?” Agathe asked, looking up quickly. “Circe, I never said—”_

_“Well, I won’t let you!” she shouted, eyes burning with tears. “Because—because I’m leaving you first!” She looked around, and in an instant spotted a barrel of water beside her. Moonlight spilled in through the roof, allowing a small reflection in its surface._

_“Circe,” Agathe gasped. “Child—wait!”_

_But it was too late. For the moment Circe’s fingertips touched its surface, she disappeared._

_Sucking in a breath, Agathe looked back at her old mirror, still tight in one grip. “Show me the girl!” she ordered._

_Yet for the first time, her magic failed to work. Circe’s powers were stronger than she’d realized—she must be hiding herself from her sight._

_“Oh, oh no,” Agathe breathed, reaching a trembling hand to her heart. “What have I done?”_

* * *

_Agathe found her five years later. And much too late._

_“Circe.”_

_The form on the ground paused in her feast. Circe looked up, eyes now a vibrant red, fingers soaked in blood. “Don’t call me that.”_

_Agathe stared at the scene in horror. “You’re a murderer.”_

_“So was he,” Circe said absently. “Besides…the heart is the greatest source of love, isn’t it?” she asked, lips curling up in a wicked grin as she looked down into the man’s empty chest._

_Agathe stared at her, barely seeing the girl who’d once been inside. She felt her old bones tremble in rage. “You…you are blinder now than you were the day I found you.”_

_Circe stood, flicking the blood from her hands and cocking her head. “And what are you going to do about it, old hag?”_

_“I’m going to stop you,” Agathe said. She raised her hands, feeling her fingertips swell with power. “I'm going to stop the monster I’ve created.”_

_“…Monster?” Circe rasped. Her cheeks grew grey and hollow, eyes bright with rage, and in an instant she had disappeared in the darkness._

_Agathe pulled back, eyes wide as she looked around. This wasn’t good. When had the girl learned such a trick?_

_Closing her eyes, Agathe felt for any source of power around her. Yet the air seemed to be brimming with nothing but death and darkness, and it soon overpowered all her senses._

_And, before she could get her bearings again, there was a hand at her throat. The sharp nails, wrist, and arm appeared a moment later, Circe’s fingers cold against her skin._

_“Didn’t see this coming, fortuneteller?” she whispered in her ear. “How interesting. You’ve grown weak.”_

_Agathe grit her teeth, but lowered her arms all the same._

_“You should have done what I did, you know,” Circe went on. “Given up your foolish pride and gained power like I do. Perhaps then you would have stood a chance against me.”_

_Agathe scowled. “If you’re going to kill me, then be done with it, girl,” she said darkly. “I wish another had years ago, before I ever had the chance to find you.”_

_Circe hissed, her grip tightening around her old master’s throat. She breathed heavily for a long minute, and Agathe waited in silence, knowing she wouldn’t die now. No, Circe wouldn’t wait so long unless she felt uncertain._

_“I don’t plan on killing you,” Circe said at last, with an air of false confidence. “In fact…I think I’ll take you with me.”_

_Now, it was Agathe who disappeared. Not of her own accord, but by a spell cast from Circe’s fingertips. Every inch of her, gone in an instant—all but the dim hand mirror in her pocket, which fell at Circe’s feet._

_The young woman laughed, leaning down and picking up the ancient object. “How ironic.” She turned the mirror over in her hands, now encasing her old master. “I’ve set not time limit for you, Agathe. You have no voice, no means to communicate but to one who asks it of you. Nor any other way to escape.”_

_Circe paused, smirking and tucking the mirror into her robes. “Looks like I’m the Enchantress of the East now,” she went on, narrowing her eyes. “And with you out of my way…I think it’s time to pay one prince of France a visit.”_

* * *

“Oh my goodness,” Jacqueline breathed as the image disappeared.

“Her teacher,” Belle gasped. “She’s…” She trailed off, recalling the very first time she’d seen this mirror, holding the glowing object beside Adam in his chambers.

 _“The mirror isn’t one of us, Belle,”_ he’d said with a laugh.

Belle’s mouth felt dry. She stared at the dim mirror in her hands, mind racing. All of these visions—they seemed different than anything else she had seen. All from one perspective, Agathe’s perspective. Belle’s eyes grew wide. These weren’t visions at all, but memories.

Adam had been wrong.

“Agathe, show—show us yourself!” Belle cried, staring at the mirror in earnest.

The object, for the first time, trembled in her hands. Belle dropped it to the rug in surprise, where it glowed fiercely. She shaded her eyes, and sensed Adam’s mother do the same. A sharp sound rang off the walls—likely Gilles releasing his sword.

Belle had barely cracked her eyes open again when she was encased in two small but strong arms.

“Belle, my dear child!” a voice cried. “You’ve done it!”

Belle stared into the wrinkled face as it pulled back. Two dark, twinkling eyes stared at her, lips curling back to reveal a mouth with several missing teeth. Said mouth was soon pressed against one of Belle’s cheeks, and then the other, cackling joyfully as she pulled away.

“Y-you’re,” Belle stammered. “You’re Agathe?!”

“Another witch?” Gilles said fiercely, pushing the woman away and standing between them with his sword aloft. “We’ve had enough of your kind around here!”

“Gilles!” Belle cried in shock. “What are you doing?”

“It could be a trick,” he explained, narrowing his eyes. “All of that. All to make us trust her.”

“Oh, Gilles,” Jacqueline said, with surprising calm. “We do love you for your diligence, but aren’t you being a bit rash? She seems safe enough to me,” she smiled.

Gilles looked perplexed at that, flushing in spite of himself. He sighed, pulling away. “You were always so generous, my queen,” he said in defeat, sliding his sword back into his belt.

Agathe, for her part, simply chuckled. “Don’t worry, I’ll forgive the handsome commander.”

Gilles blanched. Belle caught his small groan as he ran a hand down his face.

Chuckling again, Agathe promptly bent at the waist, touching her toes before raising her hands as high in the air as they would go. They would have barely reached Belle’s chin had she been standing. “Oh! I’m stiff as a board!” she exclaimed, before shaking a tiny and very unthreatening fist in no particular direction. “That wretched girl. She’ll be sorry!”

“Um,” Belle started. “I—”

Agathe was beside her again in a moment, cupping Belle’s face in one old, wrinkled hand. “Yes, yes, we must get back your prince,” she said earnestly, patting Belle’s cheek twice before turning towards Jacqueline. “And your king! Yes, it is quite time, I say.”

Belle blinked, absently wondering if all that time in the mirror hadn’t made the old enchantress a bit…well, a bit eccentric. “Agath—I mean, Sifu Agathe,” she recalled. “Do you think—”

“Oh no, child! I’m _Nai nai_ to you.”

Belle cocked her head. _“Nai…nai?”_ she asked in confusion.

Agathe raised one thin, trembling finger, and grinned. “Granny.”

 _Yes. Perhaps a bit eccentric,_ Belle decided. She smiled, also deciding she didn’t mind one bit. “Nai nai…I was just wondering,” she went on. “Could you…do you think you could look and see where Adam is?”

Agathe hummed, turning serious. “My dear child, that’s what I’ve been showing you already.”

“But…that was only mist,” Belle said in confusion.

“Yes. Circe has limited even my visions of your young prince, it seems.”

Belle looked into her lap, feeling no small tinge of disappointment.

“However,” Agathe went on. “You were right about it being a fog. Quite clever—I was hoping you might catch that. And you’ve already determined the sunrise times, I believe?”

Belle looked up. “We’re still working on it—but so far it appears to be close. Perhaps a location along the coast of France or the British Isles, or possibly up into Norway, on the wet western mountainsides and valleys. The professeur says anything further south is too dry to sustain a fog like that so constantly.”

Gilles stepped forward. “There are several old fortresses in these regions,” he said. “Abandoned for decades, even centuries now. I came across one or two in my past travels. Perhaps she has taken hold of one of these?”

“If so, there should be ample records of such in our library,” Jacqueline added. “On the fourth level eastern balcony, I believe, though we should check the index as well.”

Belle looked at the queen in awe, and remembered her first moments in the library with Adam.

 _“The most recent rulers did much of the work themselves,”_ he’d said as they discussed the large index. _“...For they had a passion for it."_

“Even if we find such, my dear,” Gilles went on, looking back at Belle. He rested a hand on her shoulder, and spoke carefully. “I must warn you that an exploration of these locations could take many long months, if not years.”

“But we…we still have the records of the men missing and murdered,” Belle said, anxious not to fall into despair again. “That could limit our search too…right?”

Agathe, strangely, chuckled at them. “Quite a clever lot, indeed. But child, you forget…” She stopped, plopping herself on the rug by their feet. She crossed her legs and rested two old hands on her knees before cocking a head up at them. “You have a power beyond books and figures now.”

Belle frowned. “I do?”

Agathe beckoned her over, so Belle moved off the bed and knelt on the floor before her. Agathe reached out one finger—making Gilles flinch—but simply rested the tip over Belle’s heart.

“Ah, yes. I feel it there,” the old enchantress spoke, closing her eyes. “The string of fate.”

Belle looked down, then back up in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“It is an effect of Circe’s spell,” Agathe went on, opening her eyes and pulling away. “No doubt unbeknownst to her. The more your love for the young prince grew, the stronger the cord became. With the curse broken, it was made firm and irremovable.”

Belle stared at her, unblinking.

Agathe leaned closer. “Think of him," she said quietly. "The one you want to see."

Belle finally blinked, then nodded. She closed her eyes.

“Now,” Agathe whispered. “Find him in your mind’s eye…and feel him in your heart.”

Sucking a breath, Belle pictured Adam, letting all her love and aching for him flood her chest. And, in an instant, something was tugging on it. It was almost imperceptible, but the more she focused the more she could feel it. Like a small string, wrapped around her heart and pulling her forward.

“I feel it,” Belle breathed. She opened her eyes, and gasped. A thin, silvery string was spilling from her chest, pooling on the floor and winding its way across the room and over the window pane. It shimmered once, twice, then disappeared again.

“It will lead you to him,” Agathe explained.

Belle looked back at her, heart swelling in hope.             

“You know your path, child,” she said with a grin. “Now, follow it!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep, just quoted Grandmother Willow. Not sorry :)
> 
> I was informed that **Mirrors now has a page on TV Tropes!** I believe you can add tropes and reviews there. So cool!!
> 
> Some chapter notes, if you’re interested – 
> 
> According to Disney Wiki, Circe is the name of the enchantress in the 1991 movie (some book they wrote about it?), while of course Agathe is her name in the live action film. I thought it would be kind of fun to use both names here. The ’91 enchantress always struck me as pretty heartless, whereas the live action one at least came back to make sure things turned out okay, and didn’t curse a child. Hence, their names. Obviously Agathe here is similar to the one in the film by name only, since I’ve made her an old, small, and (in my head) very adorable lady who just wanted to help Circe out. Alas…didn’t turn out so well, did it?
> 
> I assume many caught this but yes, Agathe was born with a cleft lip/palate. This actually causes a lot of health issues for a child, but can nowadays be fixed surgically. Of course, for many in low- and middle-income countries such a surgery may be inaccessible, and you’ll find a good proportion of these kids still being abandoned for it :(


	23. Chapter 22

Belle stared into the long mirror that now glowed from Agathe’s touch. While the pass was still buried in snow, that no longer mattered. Not now that the old enchantress could send them wherever they wished. At least, given her strength held out.

Belle swallowed roughly, willing her legs to move forward. While she trusted the woman, it didn’t do much to quell her hesitation to step, quite literally, right into her magic.

She felt a hand on her shoulder. “I’ll go first,” Gilles said. He moved forward before Belle could answer, stood tall before the grand mirror for a single, brief second—then slipped into its surface. The mirror quivered at the contact, rippling like water before settling back into its solid state.

That didn’t do much to help Belle feel better.

 _Best to get it over with,_ she decided, backing up several paces. Sucking in a sharp breath, she closed her eyes and bolted forward.

She felt nothing, nothing except hard floors beneath her feet on the other side. That, and arms catching her before she stumbled to the ground. Gilles propped her upright, and chuckled. “I suppose that’s one way to do it.”

Belle smiled a bit sheepishly, then looked around. The old Parisian apartment doors stood barely an arm width’s apart, the hall filled with a sour smell that made her wrinkle her nose. Before them stood a door like all the rest.

“I’ll wait down the hall,” Gilles said, moving into the shadows.

Nodding, Belle raised a hand and knocked quietly. When no one answered, she knocked again, louder. Something heavy dropped the other side, and she heard it roll across the floor. Two feet shuffled after it, then made their way to the door.

It opened slowly. A man looked out curiously, a strange metal object in one hand and a notepad in his other. “Can I help…” He stopped, staring at Belle in shock.

“Papa,” she whispered.

Dropping his things in an instant, Maurice tore the door open wide and pulled his daughter against his chest. “Belle,” he gasped. He pulled back, brushed a grease-stained thumb across her cheek, then held her close again. “What are you… _how_ are you here?” he managed. “The pass…the snow…”

“I…I don’t know where to start,” she admitted, clinging to his coat.

Papa was quiet, holding her tight and not letting her go for some time. “Belle,” he said at last. He sucked in a shallow breath. His voice was hoarse, the words barely coming through. “I’m so sorry, but—”

“It’s all right, Papa,” Belle said quickly. “I…I know what happened to Maman.”

Papa pulled back and stared at her for a long moment. Then he grimaced, face contorting in pain. He held her tight again.

An hour passed, much spent in tears and embraces, and Belle realized how very much she’d missed her father all these months. Eventually, and with no little trepidation, she explained everything that had happened.

While Papa gave her a half-hearted rebuke for seeking out the castle, he didn’t act the least bit surprised. And to Belle’s own surprise, he was less offended by her claim to have known living objects then the fact that _he_ hadn’t gotten to see them. She supposed, though, he had already seen Adam—so it must have been obvious that something mystical was going on.

“To think he was a royal all along,” Papa mused at one point. He stopped, growing pale. “Sacre _bleu_ —I tried to steal from our prince!”

Belle’s eyes grew wide. “You—you tried to _steal_ from him?!”

Papa laughed awkwardly, reaching up and scratching the back of his head. “Oh, um, he never mentioned that part, huh?”

 _Oh, Adam,_ Belle thought, realizing he hadn’t just given that first gift to a stranger, but to a thief. She wasn’t surprised, but it made her miss him all the more.

“Well, I suppose you going there was for the best,” Papa went on. His face grew dark. “Had I known that fellow Gaston was such a brute, I’d have never left you in Molyneaux alone. I believe your mother sensed it, though.”

Belle looked into her lap. “Finding Adam was good for more than that, Papa. I…” She stopped, squeezing her hands together. “I…I love him,” she said softly. “So much. I don’t think I can go on without…” She stopped, realizing Papa had lost his own companion not long ago, and had no choice but to go on without her.

He looked teary-eyed again, but smiled. “If anyone could go on, it’s you,” he said, reaching for her hand. “But I would not wish it upon you.”

“So you’ll help me?” Belle asked, looking up.

Papa’s smile widened. “Of course I will. Though,” he added, raising a brow. “I doubt you’d let me stop you regardless.”

* * *

Belle slid out of the saddle, landing in tall, wet grass. There was a smell in the air, a smell of brine that Gilles explained was from the nearby ocean shore. She tried to imagine the waters, something she’d never seen. In fact, though they were still in France, she’d never been so far from home. Had things been different, there could have been nothing to stop her from gallivanting towards the sea to see it for herself. However, her heart did not pull her there, so she let it be.

“Strange,” Gilles said to himself, landing on the ground beside her. “To think she was hiding so close, when she could go anywhere in the world. Though given her obsession with the king’s family…perhaps it makes sense she would remain nearby.”

The rest of their companions fell to the ground all around them. “We’ll need to continue on foot,” Gilles instructed, ordering some of the men to stay with the animals while the rest of the small party followed. They hadn’t taken everyone today—it was too much for Agathe to pull them all through the mirrors, given her age and low stores of magic—but those closest to Belle were there, as well as a select group of soldiers by Gilles’ command. Belle had felt the pull in her heart reach towards one of the western villages, where they’d first come by means of a mirror linked to a hidden lake. Renting horses for the journey, she let that feeling direct her and the others to this place.

Before them was a wet cliff side, and Belle moved up it in silence. As she climbed, the vegetation grew thicker, the pull on her heart fiercer than ever before. She started into a sprint, reaching the top and looking at what lie beyond.

A sharp drop greeted her, diving into a deep valley cut into the mountainside. It was filled with a dense, swirling fog. The others gathered around, following her gaze.

“There,” she said quietly. “He’s down there.”

While it was midday, the fog swirled relentlessly below, licking up the western mountainside and pooling in the depths of the great cavern. The way the mist moved and swelled…it almost seemed to breathe. Like an enormous, living creature, with a dozen tentacle-like limbs pawing at the inside of its rocky bowl.

“Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for thou art with me…”

All looked up towards the voice. Cardinal Marius stood out no more than the rest of them, but for the large wooden cross that hung around his neck. He looked up, noticing their attention. “Psalms,” he explained simply. “Twenty-third chapter, verse four.”

Lumiere crossed himself. Sophie turned towards him and raised a brow, knowing he had never been particularly religious. “What?” he whispered, not making eye contact. “It’s never too late, right?”

Belle was distracted, however, for the cord tugging on her heart was so strong she had to physically fight the urge not to jump into the abyss.

She felt a hand on her arm. “Belle,” Gilles said. “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather…” He trailed off, humming seriously.

She folded her arms, looking back and raising a brow. “You weren’t going to ask me to stay behind, were you?”

He sighed. “If I was, I realized it a foolish question,” he confessed. “Though I do wish I could have convinced the queen to do as much.” He looked over to where Jacqueline stood. Like Belle and the rest, she wore a pair of men’s breeches, boots, and a practical shirt covered with a traveler’s cloak, her hair pulled into a thick braid that fell down her back. Belle smiled, thinking back to Papa’s reaction to her own pair of pants. She caught his surprise, though he knew better than to say anything. They were trekking over rough terrain, after all – it was either this, or hike up her skirts and let free her undergarments to the world.

“Commander,” someone said. Belle looked up, watching one of their scouts jogging towards them from the northern tip of the cliff. “We’ve found the passage a lieu north of here. If the records were correct, it should lead us to the base of the fortress. Shall we take it?”

Gilles nodded. “Yes, but quietly. This is a scouting mission. I would rather not alert that witch to our presence if we can help it.”

Motioning to the others, the small party followed the soldier, creeping back through the thick brush and around the edge of the hill’s base. They followed him into a wooded area, then to the entrance of a dark tunnel where several more soldiers stood with dim lanterns.

A path appeared inside—old stone, half-submerged in the earth, the bare remnants of a tunnel forged by men centuries ago. Gilles had been right, it seemed. If Belle’s heart wasn’t lying to her about this place, and the library maps accurate, it seemed the enchantress was hiding Adam in a fortress long since abandoned. She wondered how much of ancient structure was even left.

As they moved deeper into the tunnel, they were forced to wade through murky, stagnant water—and soon the fog they’d seen from above, the fog Belle had seen a dozen times in the mirror at her belt, swirled all around them. Once again, the mirror contained Agathe’s form—though this time, it was by her own doing. Given the old enchantress was quite old and physically weak, she’d decided to encase herself and let Belle carry her along until she was needed.

“Nai nai,” Belle asked quietly, looking down. “Are you still doing all right?”

A small chuckle came from the object. “Oh, yes. I’m used to this by now. Don’t you worry about me!”

Belle touched the handle, then looked back ahead. The mist was nearly impenetrable here—she could barely see Henri, who was helping Sophie through a particularly deep part of the waters but a pace ahead of her.

As soon as their boots hit dry land again, Papa’s voice rang out from behind her. “Switch your filters, men,” he instructed. “And lower the second panel.”

Soft clinking noises rang out from the shadows, and the light of the lanterns changed to a dull yellow, their light no longer filling the space but angled low to the ground. Anticipating the fog, Papa had tampered with their lanterns on the journey here and prepared them in a way that would give them better vision in the cloudy air.

The new lighting conditions allowed them to follow the path through the other side, where it opened into the dark valley floor. Yet instead of an ancient fortress, an enormous wall of fog, thicker than any they had yet encountered, towered into the sky above them.

One of the braver soldiers stepped forward and reached an arm into mist. His limb vanished completely in the cloud, and he pulled back, swallowing roughly and looking back at the others.

Gilles moved beside him. “I’ll go first,” he said. Taking the soldier’s lantern, he stepped forward and disappeared into the thick cloud. A silent minute passed, then another, and just as the others began to grow restless he appeared once again.

Gilles frowned. “I didn’t expect to see you,” he said. “I walked in a straight line, or so it seemed.”

“Allow me,” Lumiere said. He stepped towards the clouded wall, and flicked his wrist. When nothing happened, he turned back in some sheepishness to retrieve a lantern. “Forgot about that,” he muttered, then turned back and entered the fog just as Gilles had just done. He was back in even less time, looking around at them all and pouting. He turned back before anyone could stop him, returning several more long minutes later.

 _“Ridicule,”_ he huffed. “No doubt another of that witch’s tricks!”

“Sifu Agathe,” Jacqueline said, stepping beside Belle and glancing down at her waist. “Don’t you know a way through?”

The old mirror hummed. “This is unlike any barrier spell I’ve seen. The fog is real, but has been bewitched to behave is such a way. It seems my apprentice has spent her time devising more ways to hide her evil doings while I sat dormant all these years. But such spells are never completely impenetrable.”

Belle bit her lip, looking up at the curtain of fog. “It’s my turn,” she said. Gilles looked anxious, but handed her the lantern regardless. She sucked in a breath, and stepped forward.

The lantern was useless, for the fog swirled all around. Belle took another step, then stopped.

 _Feel it in your heart,_ she reminded herself.

She closed her eyes, searching again for that tugging in her chest. It was strong now, much stronger than it had been back at the palace, much stronger even then on the cliff above. She focused on the feeling, taking another step forward. The cord tugged her forward two more paces, then yanked her to the right. Belle followed the movements, letting it pull her left and right, sometimes for a dozen steps, other times just one or two.

 _It’s a labyrinth,_ she realized, eyes growing wide.

Someone called her name. “I’m all right!” she said back. The calls continued, however—perhaps they couldn’t hear her. Ignoring the voices for now, she refocused and continued on. 

At last, the force tugged her into a clearing where the fog was thinner. She stared ahead and saw a dark wall, so tall she couldn’t see the top within the valley’s heavy shadows. But she could tell one thing—it wasn’t a wall of fog. It was the wall of a fortress.

A strong wind blew through her hair, and she turned around. The mist shifted, falling into a more natural layer against the ground, revealing the others standing but a dozen paces away.

Gilles ran through the cleared space, resting a hand on her shoulder. “Good lord, you had me worried,” he gasped.

The others followed, and Papa leaned close. “I knew you’d figure it out,” he winked.

Sophie sauntered over next, face alight with excitement. “So the fog was enchanted after all?” she asked. “And you broke whatever spell was on it! What did you do?”

“I just…” Belle was going to say _followed my heart,_ but that sounded a little silly. “I just followed that…that feeling, I guess.”

“See?” Sophie said, turning to Gilles. “There’s no way we could leave her behind! We’d have been wandering in that mist for _days.”_

Gilles sighed, though Belle caught his small smile. “No doubt.”

At once, they turned back to the walls before them. As a breeze swept through the valley, more of the mist blew away—and a collective gasp rang out among them.

Hundreds—no, _thousands_ of crimson roses climbed up the fortress walls, hiding nearly every inch of the stone beneath. Unlike in their natural state, the flowers grew along thick vines, spotted with thorns as long as fingers, some petals the size of a man’s palm.

Lumiere crossed himself again.

“All the men need to stand back,” Gilles ordered, turning to his soldiers. “And cover your faces in case of a wind. Those roses are bewitched to lure us into her power.”

The men in the party did as was told, but for a few exceptions. 

“My love for Fifi is true,” Lumiere said, in a rare moment of solemnity. He stood at the base of the plants with determination. “These foul plants shall not affect me.”

Papa looked over at the man. “If that is correct…I am safe as well,” he said, removing the cloth from his own mouth. Henri did the same, as did two other soldiers.

Gilles nodded, turning back to the remaining men and instructing them to surround the fortress from a safe distance and keep watch. Then he returned to the others, joining them to examine the roses more carefully.

Belle moved beside him, watching the commander curiously as he brought a hand to his chin and examined an enormous rose. “Um, Gilles?” Belle asked in carefully. “Are sure you’ll be all right to… I-I mean, have you…”

“Known true love?” he finished for her. Belle nodded in chagrin, but Gilles only smiled, be it a little sadly. “I like to think I have, though it was never spoken,” he explained. Then he paused, looking around them before leaning close and lowering his voice. “But regardless,” he whispered. “I have yet to meet a woman, enchantress or not, who can tempt me.”

Belle cocked her head in confusion. Hadn’t he just contradicted himself? Offering no explanation, Gilles gave her a wink and moved to investigate a large growth a distance away. Belle started walking towards another bush herself, then stopped. _Oh,_ she realized belatedly, smiling a little sadly herself and realizing that for all his stories of travel and war, there was still much about her friend she didn’t know.

“I say we burn the wretched things,” someone said. Belle turned around, catching sight of Lumiere who stood staring at the plants. He had tugged the candelabra from his belt—for like many of the others who could, he still carried his old form at his side wherever he went—and was holding the now-lit candles up beside the enchanted flowers. They only seemed to bloom wider at the exposure.

“No,” Gilles said firmly, approaching him. “If we start a fire, we may not be able to stop it. Not only would it alert the witch to our presence, but we could put those inside at risk.”

Grimacing, Lumiere pulled the candles away.

Belle looked back at the wall herself. From so close, she could see the vines inching upwards almost imperceptibly, the flower’s petals slowly opening to the light of the lanterns all around.

Papa moved beside her. “This place is _alive,”_ he whispered.

Belle nodded. She watched the plants, growing and shifting, vines weaving across the ground and around their feet. Around—but never touching.

_“You promised…not…to hurt her…”_

Belle’s eyes grew wide, Adam’s words ringing in her memory. And in a second, she shot one hand forward and gripped one of the spiked vines before them.

“Belle!” Papa cried in alarm. “What are you…” He trailed off, his own eyes growing wide as the vine shuddered before them. A hundred roses and thorns fell at their feet, shriveling up in an instant and leaving the plants around Belle’s hand clean and free of hazards.

“I’m all right, Papa,” Belle said, pulling back and staring at her palm. Despite the roses’ sharp thorns, she didn’t have a scratch from touching them. She smiled in satisfaction. “The witch’s magic can’t harm me.”

 _“I’m as bound by this as you, my dear prince,”_ the enchantress had told Adam. _“Bound to cause no harm to them…”_

 _Them._ Belle looked back at the others. “No, not just me… _us,”_ she breathed.

Papa looked at her, raising a brow. Then he touched at the vine beside hers, and like before, the thorns and roses fell away and revealed a very normal looking plant beneath.

“Wow, how did you do that?” Sophie asked, peeking around Belle’s arm and watching Maurice with wide eyes. Without waiting for an answer, she reached the tip of one finger towards the blood-red petals of the closest rose. It closed up in an instant. Taking courage, Sophie gripped the vine herself and watched the deadly flowers die away from a large swath of the growth before them.

The others were soon gathered around, marveling at Belle’s discovery. Humming to himself, Gilles reached up and tugged hard on one of the thick vines, then several more. “These are old—and seem to have wedged themselves deep into the walls,” he said, nodding in satisfaction. “I believe they would be fairly safe to climb.”

Sophie was already at the wall’s base, fingers grabbing the closest vine. “I’ll go first.”

“Y-you will?” Henri asked. He had moved over beside her in a heartbeat, glancing up towards the top of the enormous wall and turning pale as a sheet.  

“I’m the lightest one here, so I’m less likely to weigh down the growth too much,” she explained. “And I can send a rope down for the rest of you from the top.”

Henri swallowed, but reached into his pack and handed her the tools she would need. Sophie leaned up to whisper in his ear, kissed him softly on the cheek, then started her long climb. Henri stood at the base, pressing his hands against the stone and staring up at her with anxious, unblinking eyes.

“Hold on now, honey,” someone said. They all started, looking to see Agathe, back in her small human form, staring at the tall wall with hands on her hips. “I’m good for something around her, aren’t I?”

Sophie returned to the ground quickly, intrigued. Henri only looked relieved, wrapping an unconscious arm back around her.

Agathe turned to Maurice. “You, young man, I need you.”

 _“Y-young?”_ Maurice stammered.

“She’s called me the same,” Gilles muttered.

“Can you build us a good kite?” Agathe said earnestly, starting to roll up her long sleeves.

“A…kite?” Maurice asked in bewilderment. When the ancient sorceress didn’t reply, he shrugged and sat on the ground, digging into his own pack to see if he had anything to meet the strange request. His perplexity quickly disappeared as he was immersed in his task and, with a swath of fabric from one of Henri’s shirts and a few thin rods he kept with the other nameless objects in his pack, he’d soon constructed a large, sturdy kite.

“We don’t have string,” he said, frowning.

“Not to worry,” Agathe said. Padding slowly towards Henri, she took the spare length of rope from his hands—which he simply watched her do in some befuddlement—and held it before them. Her hands began to glow, then she tugged on one frayed end. The rope itself seemed to shrink, and stretch, a thin, shining string pooling in a pile at their feet. As the glow faded, it appeared to be an ordinary length of fine twine.

“Incredible,” Maurice said, plucking at one of the ends and examining it between his fingers. Without further delay, he fastened it to the kite.

“Now what?” Sophie asked, cocking her head.

“Now I turn you into that kite and let you sail straight to the top!” Agathe said with a toothless grin.

Sophie’s eyes grew wide as saucers—and beside her, every last bit of blood seemed to leave Henri’s face. He obviously didn’t see this alternative as much better than the last.

“Don’t worry, even if you fall you shouldn’t be hurt in this form,” Agathe said. “No weight to drag you down!”

“Then send me up instead,” Henri said, frowning deeply. He stepped in front of Sophie, a strange look on his face. “She’s been stuck in these kinda spells long enough. All of ‘em have.”

“I-it’s all right, Henri,” Sophie said, still clearly nervous. “I…I trust her—”

Henri just shook his head. He reached down and picked up the face of the kite, gripping it with determination. “I’m the strongest, Soph. I should be the one to pull everyone up from the top.”

“That’s true,” Agathe consented, letting her hands glow again. “Very well. We’ll let the inventor guide you up, then once you’re settled at the top give a tug at your string and I’ll release you.”

Henri bit his lip hard, but nodded, holding the kite high above his head. Maurice pick up the end of the string, winding it several times around his arm. Then, a second later, Henri disappeared. Maurice pulled back quickly, and the winds brushing down the valley floor lifted the kite up and away.

He was nearly out of sight when the crowd below heard a distant hoot of joy. Sophie snorted. “Looks like I was worried for nothing. He’s having the time of his life!”

They all watched for some minutes. “Did he make it?” Maurice asked, squinting his eyes towards the sky.

Gilles had an eyeglass focused towards the top of the wall. He pulled away. “I believe so.”

And, sure enough, several sharp tugs flew down the line. Agathe reached out and touched it, and a few minutes later another rope tumbled down through the mist.

Maurice stepped forward and picked it up. He made a few knots, undid one, then made some more before turning around. “A harness,” he explained, holding up the rope. At the end were some loops, with one cord that could tighten or loosen depending on the person’s size. “No doubt the young man’s secured this from the top as well. Just some extra safety should your strength fail on the long climb.”

Sophie smiled, stepping forward. _“Now_ I’ll head up!” she said eagerly, weaving her legs into the harness and fastening it around her waist. She started climbing vines in haste, aided as Henri pulled from the top. As she climbed, more withered roses and thorns fell to the ground at their feet. It seemed Sophie was clearing the enchanted growth away as she went.

Several long minutes later, the rope fell back from the mist, and Jacqueline stepped forward quickly.

“Your Majesty,” Gilles said, moving beside her. “We’re simply here to assess the situation. Are you quite sure you wouldn’t rather stay beyond the walls while we—”

“My son is trapped in there, Gilles. Perhaps even my husband,” she said firmly, slipping her legs through the harness before he could go on. “They’ve waited too long for me already. And besides—you need me,” she said with a knowing smile. “You’re low on men.”

Gilles sighed yet again. _This family is going to be the death of me,_ he thought.

The rest of them ascended one by one, until only Belle and Papa remained.

“Belle,” he said quietly. She turned back to look at him. He was frowning deeply, staring at the ground. No doubt anxious to let her go. For, given his condition, they had decided earlier it would be best if he stay away from anything that could incite another fit.

“I should be going too,” he said, closing his eyes.

“It’s all right, Papa,” Belle said, reaching for his hand. “We could never have made it this far without you.”

“Oh, you could have,” he said, looking up again. He sighed, staring towards the tall wall behind her. “It’s dangerous,” he whispered.

“Yes. Yes it is,” she said softly. She pulled him into a hug. “But it’s not _so_ dangerous,” she went on lightly. “She can’t hurt me, remember?”

Papa’s arms held her tight, as if reluctant to let her go. But he eventually did, pulling back and kissing her forehead. “Fearless,” he breathed, looking her right in the eyes. “That you are. Just like she was—all the way to the end.”

Belle’s throat grew tight and she swallowed, nodding roughly. She hugged him once more, then turned towards the massive wall behind her. Agathe had moved close without her realizing it, and soon disappeared back into the mirror at Belle’s belt. Sucking in a breath, she began to climb the long, knotted vines, letting the knot around her heart carry her upwards.

* * *

The climb was long, so much longer than she’d expected. The winds in the valley whipped against her violently, and Belle’s heart flew into her throat at each passing. Yet she managed to keep her head, to keep her strength, no doubt because Adam had insisted she practice climbing that old rope ladder in the bunker. As cold air blew through her hair, she recalled that first time he’d carried her down—the first time she’d realized how safe she felt in his arms.

 _I’m almost to him,_ she told herself. Someone grabbed her arms then, and she looked up to see Henri pulling her over the edge of the fortress wall. The stone at the top was crumbling, covered with vines and moss and still partly shrouded in fog.

“You all right there, Belle?” Henri asked, now drenched in sweat from helping the others. Belle simply nodded, still catching her own breath, looking around at their small crew. They stood at the other side of the wall, staring at what lie below.

Belle hurried over to look. “What are you… _oh,”_ she breathed in shock. Below them lie not a simple, single-ruler’s fortress like she had imagined, but a gargantuan mass of ruins—covered by thousands upon thousands more roses.

“This…this was a city,” she realized in shock, straining her eyes to see the end of it. But amid the fog and the shadows of a dozen walls and towers, it was impossible to tell where it ended.

One of the soldiers stepped out of the shadows, approaching Gilles. “We’ve spotted no movement in the area, Commander, nor any light from the distance sectors.”

Gilles hummed, looking over the wall and frowning.

“Belle,” Jacqueline asked softly. “Can’t you tell us the way to him?”

Belle nodded, and closed her eyes. That feeling in her chest was so strong now, it was almost hard to pick out where it was coming from. Soon, however, it calmed enough that she could distinguish a direction. “There,” she said, opening her eyes and pointing towards the northeast. As more of the fog cleared, they caught sight of one section of the city less worn than the others, built right into the mountainside. A tall, dark turret stood near its top, towering over the rest of the grand fortress.

“There won’t be an entrance from the main wall,” Gilles mused. “And we’ll be more easily spotted up here as it is. We’ll need to descend and access that area from the ground. And judging by the size of this place…it’s going to take longer than I anticipated to reach our objective.”

And it did. Hours alone were spent climbing down the nearest tower’s half-crumbled stairs and traversing through the city’s heart at the ground below. As Belle stepped cautiously through shallow puddles and across ancient, jagged rock, she wondered absently what it had looked like all those centuries ago. It was hard to imagine such a place brimming with people—for at present, it felt completely dead.

At any other time, Belle would have already created a dozen sketches of the place at this point. She could have spent days documenting, imagining what life would have been like for the people who lived here. Though of course, she wasn’t thinking of such things now. All she could think of was Adam, of getting him back—and of everything that could go wrong when they tried. And while Gilles claimed this was a scouting mission, she couldn’t imagine leaving this place now without him.

As they left the main square they headed up sloped road towards the mountain’s west side, climbing more broken steps and winding through dozens more stone streets. Just as the sun fell they entered an enormous archway, lit their lanterns again, and moved quietly into the caverns within.

Lumiere headed the group, still holding out his old candelabra. It cast orange shadows across stone, revealing more roses that grew beneath their feet and crawled up the walls and ceiling. The flowers withered as the small group moved past.

“The air,” Sophie breathed, shuddering. “It feels like it hasn’t been touched in ages.”

Belle agreed. In fact, she was starting to wonder if the place weren’t completely abandoned. They soon entered an enormous, open room, with arching windows that let in the last of the day’s light. Giant columns left deep shadows across what once must have been a grand throne room. A room that, like the rest of this place, was empty. And silent.

 _He has to be here,_ Belle told herself. That feeling in her heart had to mean something, right? Though the further they went through this lifeless city, the more nervous she grew that she’d led them all to a dead end—

Her thoughts stopped then. For she’d heard footsteps. 

Gilles moved the quickest, jumping ahead of Lumiere before he could even put out the light. Yet Belle heard no sound of a struggle, and so moved quickly to follow.

Behind one of the pillars Gilles stood, holding a man against him, one hand pressed hard against his mouth and a sword at his neck. Yet the stranger showed no sign of alarm—instead, Belle saw nothing but a dead, blank stare in his eyes. Then she noticed the bright rose in his vest, and promptly plucked it out. It shriveled in her fingertips, and she let it fall to the floor.

Suddenly, the man’s expression _did_ grow alarmed. He stared at her, then back at Gilles, reaching up and fighting against the commander’s tight hold.

“It’s all right,” Belle said quietly, anxious not to alert another guard. “You were under her spell, weren’t you?”

The man only blinked, breath growing frantic and eyes darting around the space like he hadn’t a clue where he was.

Pulling him around, Gilles kept the hand over his mouth, but used the other to hold a finger up to his lips before pointing his sword at the man’s neck again. _Make a sound, and you’re done,_ he seemed to imply.

Belle watched anxiously as Gilles slowly pulled his hand from the guard’s mouth. The man seemed to understand, watching them with wide eyes as the rest rejoined them and illuminated the space with their lanterns.

“Where is the enchantress?” Gilles asked roughly, but quietly. He pulled the sword back a bit. “You may speak.”

The man just stared at him, then began to speak in hushed, frantic tones.

They didn’t understand a word he said.

“An Englishman? _Ugh_ ,” Lumiere said dramatically. “What are the odds?”

“Sire Gilles,” Jacqueline whispered. “Don’t you speak the tongue?”

He shook his head. “I only picked up Prussian when I was younger. I thought you had studied it, Your Majesty.”

Jacqueline sighed. “I’m afraid I neglected my English studies for Italian. Adam, however, was quite fluent as a child thanks to Mrs. Potts…”

“I…” Belle started. They others turned towards her, and she swallowed. “I can try. My mother taught me a little.”

As she stepped into the light, the stranger finally seemed to calm a bit. He wore a marine’s uniform, though it was difficult to tell his age, for he sported a long, ragged beard and a weathered face.

“Sir,” she began. “Eh, ’ow long…you are ‘ere since?”

He just cocked his head. “Ah, what a _dame.”_

Belle recognized that—unfortunately—and sighed. “Sir,” she went on seriously “Erm…zis place…’ow did you come here?”

“Hmm?” he said absently.

Belle grimaced. “You…you know where zee enchahntress ees?” she tried.

“Do I know what?” he asked, reaching for her hand. Gilles swatted him away.

“She ees—she ees zee woman…with ‘oo…was keeping you... Ah!” Belle said in frustration, turning back to the others. “I shouldn’t have neglected my practice. He doesn’t understand me at all.”

“It’s all right, mademoiselle,” Lumiere deadpanned, resting a hand on her shoulder. “The English language is _une abomination,_ after all.”

“And not to worry,” an old voice said. Agathe had appeared from her belt again, now standing before the guard. “I can speak to him.”

“You’re…you’re just telling us this now?” Henri asked incredulously.

“I like to give you a chance to do it first!” she chuckled. “Besides, Belle did quite well on her own. This man simply was too distracted by her to listen.”

Belle flushed in embarrassment, staring at her feet. She missed Adam.

Agathe spoke quickly to the man, whose expression changed to utter bewilderment at the tiny old woman demanding answers from him. He answered nervously, then clearly grew more confused as the interaction proceeded.

Agathe sighed, turning back. “If he’s being honest—which I believe he is—then the last thing he recalls is being washed ashore after his ship wrecked in a storm, and being rescued by a mysterious and beautiful woman.” She huffed, shaking her head. “Haven’t you ever heard of sirens before, fool?”

“So the witch brought him here,” Belle surmised. “When, though?”

Agathe spoke to the man again. “Oh, goodness. He thinks it’s still a number of years ago. I believe he’s been acting under her power here all that time.”

“So he’s useless to us,” Gilles grunted. “And no doubt there are more like him in this place. He was easy enough to take down, though I worry what we’ll do should we face more of them. If we can rid them of the cursed flowers, however, they should be confused enough to contain, perhaps even recruit.” He stopped, pursing his lips. “I was truly hoping we could gain more information by him though. I don’t like going in blind.”

“But from what we’ve seen…that witch’s spells can’t harm us anymore, no?” Lumiere asked. “We’re here now, Agathe can form another path in any of those large puddles and we can bring the rest of the staff here and launch a full attack!”

“No,” Gilles directed. “If we alert her to our presence, she could threaten the prince to stay our hand. Or even depart with him before we can reach them. No,” he said, shaking his head. “Today, we must be cautious.”

And so they were, continuing back through the dark halls. The Englishman was allowed to follow, given he remained silent and obeyed all their commands. He agreed to such without complaint when Agathe asked—though this may have had to do with the accompanying glare from Gilles that implied his other options were not pleasant.

Belle could feel the pull stronger than ever here, but these corridors wound in such a strange and convoluted path it was impossible to follow it exactly. Instead, Gilles sent his two soldiers ahead of them to scout each new hall before waving them all onwards. 

The deeper they went, the less worn the spaces became. In fact, at some point they even spotted furniture in the halls, a rug beneath their feet. Dusty, but clearly not hundreds of years old. They investigated the rooms they passed, finally reaching the grandest of all.

Belle heard Gilles swear under his breath as he looked inside. He pulled back, appearing uncomfortable. “Stay here. I…I believe we’ve found her den.”

He entered with his guards, and their footsteps disappeared for a long minute before finally emerging. “It’s empty,” Gilles said, pulling open the door.

Belle looked inside. The room was grand, and clean but for a thin layer of dust. A large bed sat in one corner of the chamber, shrouded in long, cream curtains. A desk sat in other, but it was the center of the room that overpowered all else. There stood a vanity, not with one mirror but dozens of them in all shapes and sizes, covering the wall from floor to ceiling and reflecting the viewer back in just as many ways. Each was framed beautifully, but differently—from solid gold to jeweled edges to carved, stained wood.

Belle stared at them for a long moment, several dozen Belles staring back at her. In her mud-soaked pants and tall boots, she looked nothing like she once had. But more than that, something in the young woman’s eyes staring back at her felt completely foreign.

 _I’m different than I used to be,_ she thought absently, turning back to the others. Perhaps it was best to avoid these mirrors.

“These are…actually quite beautiful,” Jacqueline was saying. Belle stepped closer, following her gaze across the opposite wall. Oddly, while the obsession with mirrors overshadowed the space, that wasn’t all there was to see. Here, shallow shelves lined the walls, filled with paintings and small sculptures and hundreds of other artifacts that looked like they’d come from the farthest corners of the world.

Belle frowned. What were such wonderful things doing in the house of a monster?

“So, uh…she’s a collector, then?” Henri asked, scratching his head.

Belle bit back against the sick feeling in her throat.

“Well, she’s still human, isn’t she?” Sophie shrugged.

“No,” Belle said suddenly. Sharply. “She’s _not.”_

The others looked at her in shock, and she turned away. Why did she feel so angry? “This isn’t helping us find him,” she said roughly, entering the hall once again. “We should go.”

She made it several paces down the corridor, but stopped, clenching her fists.

“It’s difficult to see your enemies this way, isn’t it child?”

Belle blinked, having forgotten Agathe was still at her hip. “In what way?” she asked, wishing to avoid the topic.

“Before, you were innocent, and so certain in your view of her,” Agathe said. “Now you’re wiser but unsure, no?”

Belle grit her teeth. “I’m still sure she’s a monster,” she said, fighting back foolish tears. “I’m still sure she’s a demented, vain _murderer_ who’s taken and tormented Adam when he did nothing wrong!”

“Child, it’s all right,” Agathe said calmly. “People can be many things at once. To know there is a glimmer of good in her by no means justifies the bad. In fact, it’s a sad testament to what she might have been had she chosen a better path.”

Belle swallowed, and nodded slowly.

“Just remember this,” Agathe went on. “It’s when we finally see the humanity in our enemies, that we find the true way to conquer them.”

“…All right,” Belle agreed quietly. “I’ll remember.”

She felt a hand on her arm then. “J-Jacqueline,” she stammered, looking back in embarrassment.

The queen only reached down and squeezed her hand. “I don’t like it either,” she admitted, looking back towards the enchantress’s chambers. “Perhaps, in my pride, I always saw my love for art as a virtue. But if someone like her could appreciate it in the same way…” She trailed off, shaking her head.

“At least you didn’t overreact like I did,” Belle said quietly.

Jacqueline simply smiled. “You are still young, and full of passion. I love that—don’t let it go too easily.”

Belle finally smiled a bit herself. She was really starting to understand why Adam had loved his mother so much. And while Jacqueline was different then her own maman in many ways, and while no one could ever fill that gap in her heart…Belle did feel a similar kind of comfort from having the queen nearby.

* * *

Jacqueline watched her son’s young love walk ahead of her. They’d seen no one else yet, having investigated all the remaining rooms on the level where they’d found the bedchamber. But given the size of this sector alone, it could takes days to make their way through its full expanse. Belle held her head high, focused solely on their task. Yet Jacqueline saw the stiffness in her shoulders, the extra moisture in her eyes as she fought back tears of anxiety.

The girl was worried, terrified even. Jacqueline understood, for the same terror filled her heart. Much could go wrong today.

She looked back up as Belle stopped once again, placing a hand over her heart as she tried to sense which direction to go. Jacqueline smiled; she liked Belle already. She was obviously a compassionate and level-headed young woman, but beneath that she had a fierce determination in whatever she set her mind to that made her even more likable to the queen. Though of course, it was still strange to imagine her little boy _courting_ —what felt like just a week ago he was young enough that this woman could have been his governess!

She thought of him then, thought of what him and his father must have gone through in believing her dead, thought of the unknown horrors Alexandre had endured alone all these years and all the known torment Adam had gone through without them both. Though Jacqueline wept for them in the quiet of night already, she was suddenly overcome by the guilt and the sorrow for them where she stood. She sucked in a breath, leaning against the wall and trying to quell her despair.

 _Compose yourself,_ she thought earnestly. _You must focus today._

“Your Majesty,” someone said softly. “Are you all right?”

It was Lumiere, holding his candelabra nearby. For all his flare, Jacqueline knew their old friend could be quite in touch with another when needed.

She nodded. “Thank you. I suppose…I suppose I’m simply starting to feel the effects of an older body,” she fibbed, accepting his arm and letting him guide her back towards the others. In general, however, what she said was true—she wasn’t old yet, of course, but aging more than a decade overnight certainly made the physical changes more obvious. It was also strange to be around the other couple who had joined them, for she had been their own age when she vanished.

_After all this time…will Alexandre still love me?_

The thought was a terrible one, of course. But she couldn’t help but wonder all the same. She’d been away from him for so long…he would truly be a man past middle age now, in mind and body. She might look a similar age herself, but she still felt barely over thirty.

_You have a twenty year-old son now._

She shook her head. The more she thought of it, the stranger it felt. She just needed to get the two of them back—perhaps then it would all make sense.

“There’s something wrong with this place,” someone whispered. Jacqueline looked up, noticing Sophie ahead of her with her arms wrapped tightly around herself.

“Well, it’s probably haunted,” Henri said, leaning down and whispering in Sophie’s ear. “Filled with that ol’ witch’s victims, out for _vengeance.”_

“Henri!” Sophie squeaked, covering her eyes. “D-don’t say that!”

Jacqueline hid a smile.

“Can’t you hear ‘em?” he went on, grinning. _“Heeelp meee, Sooophie!”_ he mimicked, letting his voice go high and wispy. _“Heeelp—”_

Suddenly, they _did_ hear a voice. Henri yelped, jumping behind Sophie and grabbing her shoulders in fear.

“Quiet, you two!” Gilles huffed, throwing a hand out that stopped everyone in their tracks. The echo ahead faded, but lingered in the air around them. It sounded like…like a moan, almost.

Jacqueline shuddered, heart starting to race. She, of course, didn’t believe this place was haunted—but imagining why someone had groaned that way was almost worse. She grabbed at her chest in an attempt to quiet its pounding.

More whispers. “There’s…another guard…just ahead,” one of their soldiers was saying, having run back from scouting the next hall. He was breathing hard. “Shall we retrieve him as well?”

“Does he have a rose, like the last?” Gilles asked.

The soldier nodded.

“Then no,” Gilles said firmly. “He’ll remember nothing if we remove the rose, and I’m tired of wandering these halls of death. We follow him.”

Trailing close to the wall, they followed Gilles and his men around the corner, and then the next. Jacqueline stepped as quietly as she could, rolling from heel to toe and pressing her fingers against the wall to steady her.

Gilles stopped, and she glanced around him. Ahead, not even holding a lantern in the darkness, moved another guard. She could make out nothing but an old metal helmet hiding his face as he entered a narrow archway and disappeared.

After a minute they followed, winding down broken steps. A smell greeted them—at first just the taste of stagnant seawater, but what soon followed was a horrible, putrid scent that sent Jacqueline’s hand flying to cover her nose and forced Belle to cover a cough.

“The dungeons,” Gilles said hollowly, turning back to them with grave eyes. “And it seems they’re well inhabited.”

Nearing the bottom, two more men stood in silence, guarding a wide gate built into the stone. Gilles was about to send his men against them, but Jacqueline reached out to stop him. “No,” she said. “That will be too loud. And besides, those men wear the uniforms of our armies. I would rather not harm them.” She pulled back, then tugged the hood of her cloak over her eyes. “The enchantress impersonates others, no?” she whispered, glancing ahead. “It’s an interesting trick…and I think I’ll try it myself.”

And before Gilles could stop her, she stepped around the corner. She heard him curse quietly behind her.

Jacqueline paused in the shadows for just a moment, then directly into the light of the guard’s dim lanterns. She stood tall, with all the confidence she’d learned in the courts. She’d had no other choice, not in the presence of those who saw her as a woman unworthy of their prince, who’d seduced him and stolen the royal title from their daughters. In truth, she’d never desired to be queen, never wanted more than a simple life seeking beauty and love. She’d found the latter in Alexandre—and it had been worth the cruel remarks to be by his side.

Those remarks also taught her much about pretending—about hiding her fears and her insecurities. Which, right now, she needed more than anything. She stood taller, and cleared her throat.

“Enchantress,” one of the guards spoke at last. His voice sounded empty.

 _I fooled them,_ she thought, holding back a sigh of relief. She’d been counting on this—for what other woman would they possibly expect in such a place? And given the enchantress changed forms, she made an easy target to impersonate herself.

Nodding slowly at the man, Jacqueline spoke. “Open the gate, servant.” She forced her voice to be harsh, and cold—she had to play the part, after all.

The guard pulled a length of keys from his belt, and turned to obey her command.

 _Gilles needs information,_ she remembered. But how to get it when she knew so little? “You,” she said suddenly, turning to the other man. “Give me an update on the…conditions.”

“No movement in the area, Enchantress,” he said, unaware of the waver in her voice. His own voice barely altered in pitch, eyes lifeless and staring straight ahead. “All three hundred and forty-two prisoners accounted for—”

 _Three hundred and—!_ Jacqueline tempered her surprise, forced herself to think to her next steps.

“The food continues to replenish, as promised,” the man went on. “Shall we prepare a new cell today?”

Jacqueline didn’t hesitate. “Not today. Instead, I wish to visit one of the prisoners. But I am tired, and cannot recall if he is here,” she said. She paused nervously, but went on. “King Alexandre, of the northern province.”

She had thought at first to ask after Adam, but if he’d only just come it would be much more suspicious to claim she’d forgotten. If Alexandre was here…perhaps he would know where their son was as well. 

The man was still for a long moment, and she suddenly wondered if she’d said something wrong. She clenched her jaw, hard. Yet another heartbeat later the guard turned around, pulled a torch from the wall, and entered through the iron gates. _Gilles is **not** going to be happy with me, _ she thought absently, heart thundering against her chest as she tugged her hood on further and followed.

The smell was nearly suffocating here, and she could now see what had caused it. Men, dozens of them, clothed in rags, skin barely visible beneath their own filth. They were contained in shallow cells, most overcrowded. Many bodies lay on the floor in ways making it impossible to tell if they were alive or dead.

Jacqueline felt her arms quaking. This was far more terrible than anything she’d seen in her life. More terrible than things she’d read about, things she hadn’t quite understood until now.

Nearly every cell was missing the bars that would have blocked their escape; some had no barrier at all. There were even gaping holes in the stone letting in more thick clouds of fog. She caught the dark trees beyond the fortress walls, growing against the steep mountainside.

 _Why don’t they try to leave?_ she thought in confusion. These men had no roses in their breasts, so they weren’t being controlled like the guards. She forced herself to study the prisoners more carefully, and soon she spotted it—a man on the floor, leaning against a wall. Yet there was no wall, only empty air behind him. Something was there she could not see.

He turned around then, cried out, and backed quickly away from her. At the sound, the rest seemed to awaken to her presence, acting just as equally frightened. They pressed themselves against the walls, fighting each other for the safest spaces, shouting in rage and fear.

Jacqueline stared at the scene in horror. _How greatly they fear her,_ she realized. She turned away, and continued on.

After several more minutes of walking, her guard stopped. He lifted one limp arm, pointed towards the cell to his right, then turned around to return to his post. She waited, perfectly still, until he disappeared from sight. Then, heart in her throat, Jacqueline pulled back her hood and moved to look inside.

A single man sat there, dressed in clothes that could have once been quite fine but now sat in shreds. A long, dirty beard covered his face. He didn’t move, didn’t even turn to acknowledge her.

“A-Alexandre?” Jacqueline whispered, uncertain.

At the sound of her voice, he looked back quickly, studying her face for several heartbeats. “Jacqueline?” he gasped, rising quickly to his feet. He was taller than her, yet so terribly thin his shoulders seemed far too wide for his frame. His eyes were pale, hidden beneath dark, matted hair and surrounded by new wrinkles. Yet when he looked at her, she knew.

Just as suddenly, however, his face grew dark. “No,” he said roughly, turning away. “No. You’ve merely taken her form. To torment me.” He scowled deeply, staring at the floor. “I won’t have it, witch.”

Jacqueline’s heart was in her throat, and she found it impossible to breathe. Instead, she took one step towards him, and then another. The barrier didn’t stop her, and she found herself at his side. Yet as she reached towards him he flinched, pulling further away.

Her fingers shook in the air and she hesitated, wondering. Doubting.

“A-Alexandre…” she managed. She sucked in a breath and, as tenderly as she could, reached out to touch his jaw with her fingertips. The same way she’d touched him for the first time, when he’d sought her in the quiet of night all those years ago.

His expression changed at the touch, and he looked back. He breathed once, twice, looking back and forth between her eyes. Then his own filled with tears. _“Jacquie.”_

“Alex,” she gasped, letting him pull her into his arms. They were so thin, and weak, and his clothes filthy beyond anything she’d seen in her life. But she didn’t care one bit.

“You’re _alive,”_ he croaked out. His body was shaking, and so cold. Jacqueline lowered him slowly to the floor, tearing off her cloak and pulling it around him.

“I’m so sorry,” she said, feeling her throat grow tight with regret. “All this time…all this time I was gone, and see what she’s done to you!”

“You’re alive,” he said again, still in shock, cradling her face with a trembling hand. “She told me, but I…I didn’t know if I could believe it…” He couldn’t go on, for his breathing grew ragged, his chest heaving with emotion. Jacqueline pulled him against her breast, letting him weep as he clung to her with all the strength he had left.

Though the queen held her beloved gently, her own heart filled with a rage that chased away any anxiety that lingered there. She suddenly felt as powerful as a great bear, as ferocious as a lion, prepared to tear apart the one responsible for breaking the man in her arms and torturing the child she had yet to find.

“F-forgive me,” Alexandre said after some minutes, pulling back to look at her. He brought a hand to his face, brushing away his tears with stiff fingers. More simply replaced them. “Forgive me, my love…”

Jacqueline shook her head. “None of that,” she said softly, brushing his tears away herself.

“My queen!”

Jacqueline looked back quickly. There stood Gilles, breathing heavily, a hand resting against the wall. “My queen, are you…” He stopped, noticing the man beside her. He stared at the king with wide eyes, then fell quickly to one knee. “Your Majesty,” he rasped, a fist to his heart.

“Gilles!” the king cried. He made to stand, but even with Jacqueline’s help he couldn’t quite manage. So instead he waved the commander over emphatically. “Get over here and embrace me, old friend!”

Gilles looked up in surprise, then chuckled under his breath as he stood and he obeyed.

“How did you get past those men?” Jacqueline asked, raising a brow at him.

“When the guard returned without you…well, I admit I grew a bit concerned,” Gilles began, pulling out of the king’s embrace and returning to his formal posture. “So Agathe simply turned them into their helmets so we could deal with them later. It took a bit out of her, but with so many sick men to heal in this place she’ll be able to regain much of her former power again.”

Alexandre simply blinked, obviously unaware of what was going on but watching his wife with eyes still full of wonder.

She turned to him then. “Alex…do you know where Adam is?”

“Adam?” he asked in surprise.

“We have reason to believe he is here, Your Majesty,” Gilles clarified.

Alexandre shook his head slowly. “I’m sorry. I don’t…I don’t know where he is.” He stopped suddenly, clenching his fist. “She cursed him. Took me from him, then turned him into a…” He trailed off, staring into his lap.

“He may still be in his cursed form, to an extent,” Gilles went on straightly. “The enchantress took him from the palace not a week ago.”

“A week ago?” Alexandre asked, frowning deeply. “No, no surely it’s been longer.”

“Longer?” Jacqueline asked. “Longer since what?”

“Since she was here. We are…” He paused, eyes growing dark. “We are her source of…power. She always visits the dungeons when she’s here.”

Jacqueline felt her fury return, and held him closer. “My love, can you…can you recall for certain when she was last here?” she asked quietly.

He frowned, brows wrinkling as he thought, a hand gripping hers weakly. “I stopped keeping track of such things long ago,” he admitted. “But I do recall a brighter night when she last came. Perhaps something of a full moon?”

“A full moon?” Gilles asked. “That…that was nearly a month ago.”

Jacqueline looked back at him. “But that means…”

“Your son may not be here after all.”

They heard a quiet gasp behind them then, and looked back. Belle stood there, staring at them, eyes wide in alarm.

“Belle…dear…” Jacqueline said carefully.

Belle only shook her head. She took one step back, then another—then bolted deeper into the tunnels.

“Belle!” Gilles cried. “Wait!”

* * *

Belle didn’t stop, even when Gilles was calling her name. _He has to be here!_ she thought in desperation, letting her heart tug her ever deeper into the damp halls. She couldn’t take it anymore, couldn’t take the endless, mindless wandering. Caution had been thrown to the wind, for she couldn’t stand that burning in her heart any longer. And she just couldn’t accept it had led her astray.

_No. He’s here. I can feel it!_

So she ran, letting the feeling drag her this way and that, soon entirely lost in empty halls once again but caring nothing. The roses bloomed brighter here, though they deadened as she passed, the walls torn apart all around and revealing the rest of the dark city deep in the valley below. The floor began slanting upwards, then curved until she reached the base of a narrow, winding staircase. A staircase leading to the enormous tower she’d seen from across the city hours ago.

 _He’s up there!_ she realized. _He has to be!_

She took the steps two at a time, racing to its top. Mirrors lined the inner wall of the passage, which only added to her frantic climb as her parallel figure leapt up the stairs beside her.

Reaching the top, Belle spared but a second to take in her surroundings. A bare landing. An old archway, the barred gate torn from the wall and hanging from its hinges. A dark cell.

Sucking in a breath, Belle bolted through its entrance. “Adam!” she cried. “Adam, I’m—”

She stopped, voice dying in her throat. The room was empty. No more stairs, no more rooms. Just a dim, bare cell with a single window overlooking the valley floor far below.

Belle took one step forward, then another. “I don’t understand…” she breathed. She reached up, and pressed a hand to her chest, focusing on that feeling yet again. “P-please…” she begged. _“Please_ show me where he is…”

The silver cord appeared this time. It spilled from her chest, floated through the air…and ended right in the center of the room.

Belle stared at it for a long, breathless moment. Then she dropped slowly to her knees. All felt numb.

Someone touched her shoulder. Belle whipped her head back, heart racing again. “Ad—”

She stopped, heart sinking into her stomach. It wasn’t Adam, but Agathe, appearing once again from the mirror at her belt. She looked down at Belle with dark, sad eyes.

Belle turned back around, staring at the place where the string ended. It hovered midair, trembling as though waiting for something. “She must have taken him before we got here,” Belle said, fighting back tears. “Sh-she must have heard us coming…”

Agathe squeezed her shoulder with weak fingers. “But what does your _heart_ tell you?”

“It…it tells me he’s here,” Belle whispered, before looking back up at her. “But he isn’t! This doesn’t make any…” She trailed off, mind finally starting to catch up.

_“I wonder how long it will take you to change back.”_

The enchantress had said that, watching as Adam suffered his transformation in reverse. Watching with repulsion.

Belle’s heart throbbed in her ears. “Oh,” she gasped, suddenly short of breath. “Oh, no. That…that must be what she meant.” She stared at that string, watching it twist, curl in on itself, chase its own end in the small space. “He isn’t here now…but he will be,” she said hollowly.

“Yes. It seems so,” Agathe agreed.

Belle stared at her hands where they rested on the filthy floor, shaking her head in grief. How long? How long would she have to wait? She already ached for him so much, and it had been but a handful of days.

_“The beginning of missing someone…it’s always the worst part.”_

Adam had said the words himself. But somehow Belle felt her yearning for him would only grow worse with time.

“I do not believe it will be too long,” Agathe said gently. “Our spells cannot stop the natural growth of time. She will…she will wish to keep him young, and not delay. Just long enough to change him back, mm?”

“Maybe.” The string started to fade again, and Belle reached out, brushing her fingers through it, watching as it disappeared. Then her eyes grew wide, and she looked up. “Can’t you look into his future, Nai nai?” she asked suddenly. “Can’t you see when he’ll be here?”

“I’ve tried, child. But Circe has blocked all visions of him. I’m afraid Prince Adam’s future is one I cannot see.”

Belle was quiet for a long moment. She reached out, pressing a hand to the ground where Adam would be. “…Then look at mine," she breathed.

“Ah,” Agathe said, pulling a hand from Belle’s shoulder and letting it glow. _“That_ I can do.”

* * *

Heat. So much heat, like a fire scorching every inch of his skin and deep into his bones. Belle’s voice, ringing in a desperate panic. A sharp tug at his throat, a darkness, and a swirling, all-encompassing mist.

Adam gasped for breath, and Belle’s voice was gone. So was the heat, his agonizing pain replaced by a duller aching in his limbs. He sucked in another breath and opened his eyes. The mist hadn’t vanished, though in the places where it parted he saw old stone walls and dimly-lit sconces.

“Damn it,” someone snarled. “Still not finished yet?”

Adam blinked against blurry vision, realizing he’d fallen to his knees. His chain still glowed, pooling on an old stone floor and winding across the room. It vanished a moment later. Adam swallowed, looking back down and staring at his paws.

 _Not paws,_ he realized, heart leaping into his throat. How had he changed so quickly? He knelt up, holding his hands before his face and staring at them in awe. Fingers—real, _human_ fingers. He turned them over once, then twice. The skin was still raw, and splotched with red, the nail beds tender to his touch. But there was no more fur, and there were no sharp claws.

Something rang against the ground. Adam looked back, noticing a large mirror behind them and something rolling from its surface and resting beside his knee. His eyes grew wide at the sight, and he reached for his temples. No horns, only two thick scabs beneath his hair.

 _Hair._ He pulled it forward, staring at the locks between his fingers which reflected a kind of dark golden color the dim candlelight. Heart thundering against his chest, he looked back down at the ground. What had once been the horns atop his head were now dissolving into a golden mist.

Forgetting what it meant to breathe, Adam rested his new hands against his chest. The skin here was tender as well, but he couldn’t help but run his hands over his new form. His barrel-like chest was gone, replaced by the upright, formed body of a man.

Slowly, he raised his hands to his face. At first, he thought there was still fur here. But no, this felt different—a little rougher, and it stopped above his cheeks. He let his fingers run over his forehead, his eyelids, his nose—so smooth, so different in shape than they had been before.

Beside him, the enchantress sighed deeply. While she had just gotten her way with him, she certainly didn’t look it. In fact, as some of the swirling mist faded around them, Adam thought she seemed downright exhausted.

“Take him,” she said, motioning towards someone in the shadows. Two figures emerged—each in French military uniforms and helmets that hid their faces. The taller was decorated in a general’s colors, while the other looked to be an ordinary foot soldier, with a thin build that suggested he was quite young.

The men reached down at once, lifting Adam to his feet. Adam noticed these two also had bright roses in their coat pockets, though he himself smelled nothing but damp, putrid air. Feeling his breeches falling dangerously low, Adam reached down and tugged at the cinch around his waist with a trembling hand.

“Come,” the enchantress said dryly, leading them deeper into the darkness. Adam tried to follow, yet something was wrong with his feet, his balance all wrong. Slipping, he braced himself against the wall, one shirt sleeve slipping off his shoulder in the process. The witch didn’t wait for him.

The men, with surprising gentleness, reached out once again and helped Adam forward.

“Mer…merci,” Adam managed, grateful for the support. The soldiers didn’t respond; perhaps they couldn’t. Or perhaps they couldn’t understand him at all.

They followed the enchantress up narrow, winding steps. The stone was cracked, large gaps in the walls all around them. Yet a thick fog leaked through every window, so much that Adam couldn’t make out anything beyond. However, he did catch sight of hundreds of roses crawling up the outside of this strange fortress, curling around the open windows and winding their way across the floor. Considering he was walking on near-raw, bare skin, Adam stepped around their thorns with caution.

At the top was a narrow hall was a small, abandoned cell. The witch motioned to it with a curt nod, and the men carefully deposited Adam on the floor inside. An old, broken gate leaned against the wall, yet the witch made no attempt to set it back in place.

“Stay here until you’re finished… _molting,”_ she ordered him, turning away in disgust. Adam felt a distinct tug around his neck that seemed to anchor him in place, and he realized why she showed no interest in the gate. His oath would keep him here at her command.

“Once you’re done,” she went on, “my guards will show you to your room.”

“My room?” Adam asked in confusion.

 _“What?”_ she snapped, glaring back at him. “You want to stay in the tower?!”

Adam looked around, then ducked his head between his knees where he sat. “…It doesn’t matter.” _Nothing matters without her._

The witch started moving again, and a sudden feeling a guilt washed over Adam as he recalled the words he’d left behind for Belle to read. He’d promised not to lose himself again, hadn’t he?

“Wait,” he rasped. 

The enchantress paused, turning back and raising a brow.

Adam took a deep breath, forcing himself slowly to his feet. His bones themselves seemed to crack at the movement, but he ground his teeth against the pain. For this, he needed to stand tall. “What do you plan to do?” he asked. His voice felt rough, throat dry, but he went on. “With this kingdom. With my people?”

The witch looked curious, but didn’t reply.

“I…I have ideas,” he went on. His body shook once, and he was forced to lean against the wall. But still, he went on. “I know I’ve lived in isolation, but I’m not completely ignorant. And I would rather not live my life as your puppet. Let me…let me be involved, at least.”

“Prince _Adam,”_ she said. “I’m surprised. It seems you have a thirst for power after all.”

“I’ll take nothing,” he said firmly. “I want nothing.” _You’ve taken all I care about,_ he added inwardly. _But if I can do something for them…maybe my life will still mean something._ “They need not suffer under you,” he continued. “This kingdom—it could thrive. My uncle has ruined its economy, brought sickness and suffering on those in his care. Do you intend to do the same? What could it profit you, to rule a kingdom that’s wasting away?”

She watched him a moment, then narrowed her eyes. Adam gulped, hoping his meager attempts at persuasion he hadn’t just backfired.

“Hmm. I do prefer a healthy population to meet my…needs,” she said at last. “Perhaps you are right.”

Adam blinked, unsure what she meant by _needs_ and feeling very certain he didn’t want to know.

“Speaking of which…” She stopped, pulling another small mirror from her pocket. She watched it for a moment, then smirked. “Interesting. It seems King Victor is already quite at home in your palace.”

Adam’s heart leapt into his throat. “What?” he gasped in terror. _We left but minutes ago! How is that possible?!_

The witch ignored him. “Mmm, seems he has a good supply of men with him,” she said, licking her lips. “Yes…yes, this will make things easy.” She looked back up, then started towards him. “You see, I plan to return the long-lost prince to these people,” she went on. His thick chain appeared in her hands once again, just barely visibly in the mist. “He’ll claim I saved him from the imprisonment of a jealous uncle, claim his love for the beautiful and mysterious woman who rescued him.”

Adam wrinkled his nose. “I won’t lie for you.”

“Oh, but you will, for you are bound to me.” He could see her shape now, a shadow in the darkness that drew closer. The figure cocked its head. “Perhaps we’ll even have the wedding ceremony after your silly Catholic tradition.”

Adam bit back a snarl.

“All your subjects will love me, give me everything I desire…” She paused, tugging on his bounds and forcing him to look down at her. “But most importantly…so will _you.”_

One of the guards flinched, but Adam didn’t notice, for the enchantress was right up against him now. Her breath was like ice against his skin, lips far too close. And while she was smaller than before, her closeness still made his skin crawl.

Yet he couldn’t look away. Not from any force of magic, but from what he saw as the fog finally parted between them.

She was… _repulsive._ Her hair, once long and golden, was so ragged and bare he could see the blotched and deadened scalp beneath. Her skin, which once shone bright in the moonlight, was now grey and flaky, clinging to hollow cheeks. But worse than that, it was so transparent he could see her full skull underneath.

Yet what sickened him most was her eyes—for the red, once so striking and powerful, now leaked from her irises into the whites of her eyes, winding through thick veins and lining her sockets with what Adam could only imagine was blood.

 _What’s…wrong with her?_ he thought in horror. _Why would she take such a form?_

The witch’s amusement from before had faded, and she barred her teeth. “What are you staring at?!” she demanded.

Adam blinked. “N-nothing.”

She scowled, pulling away quickly and tugging the hood of her cloak up to hide her face. “When you’re finished, clean yourself up. I think I’ll go usurp your pathetic uncle in the meantime, and take advantage of his…resources.” Her enthusiasm was gone, however, and she pulled another small mirror from her pocket with little fanfare. “You will fulfill your bargain with me at my return.”

Another wave of fog blew through the gaping walls. When it faded again, the enchantress had disappeared.

Whether from the exertion of standing, or a fresh wave of despair, Adam felt the blood rushing from his head to his toes and his legs give out beneath him. He staggered, hands slipping against the wall and body sliding towards the floor.

Yet before he hit the ground, someone caught him. He opened his eyes, staring at a rusty helmet. It was the smaller guard, arms wrapped around him and holding him close. Slowly, gently, he lowered Adam to the ground.

Adam stared at him in confusion, grasping the boy’s shoulder to steady himself, for his bones seemed to be breaking where he sat. He leaned back against the wall, breathing roughly and trying not to think about the pain.

The young guard was still for a long moment, then turned towards his companion in the shadows. The general nodded, taking off quietly down the hall.

Adam could barely comprehend the meaning of the interaction. His body shook again.

Beside him, the guard reached up and released the latch on his helmet. With the heel of his hand, he pushed it up over his head and let it drop to the floor.

A long, brown braid tumbled out. Warm eyes stared at him from the darkness—hazel eyes, already filled with tears. And like the very first time he saw her, Adam realized this was no man.

“It’s _you,”_ she whispered, resting her forehead against his, gloved fingers cradling his cheek in the darkness.

His vision was fading quickly, and Adam barely saw her, barely heard her voice or felt her tears against his skin before he fell unconscious. But it was enough.

_Belle?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ARE WE ALL EXCITED YET
> 
> CAUSE THE AUTHOR LADY IS EXCITED
> 
> Bless all of you still reviewing, leaving such nice thoughts, telling me you’ve read it multiple times?!? (That one blows my mind, I love you guys!) It’s Thanksgiving week so of course I must say I am SO thankful to you all for the reviews and encouragement! I posted a little something on tumblr about this, but as of a few days ago I’ve officially been working on this story for 1 year. I never imagined at the time what it would become or all the wonderful support I’d receive. You are all the BEST!


	24. Chapter 23

“Oh my. Bones must still be condensing. And his skin is quite new, I see.”

Something touched Adam’s hand. Another hand—small, cool, unfamiliar. It squeezed.

And the pain started to seep away.

“Ah,” the voice continued. It was old, and had an accent he’d never heard before. “Yes, there we go, young prince. My, how handsome you turned out to be!” The woman paused, then cackled under her breath. “You agree then, child?”

Silence, then— “…Yes.”

Adam’s heart leapt in his chest. _Belle._ That was Belle’s voice! He tried to call out to her, tried even just to open his eyes, but a sudden wave of drowsiness fell over him and he found it impossible to do either.

“There,” the old woman continued. “I’ll let him sleep the rest off, and leave you to…”

The voice faded, and the world fell away once again.

* * *

When he awoke the second time, it was to the sound of dripping water.

Adam blinked once, then twice, turning his head where he lay to investigate the noise. Two hands were ringing water from a clean cloth—familiar hands—the liquid draining into a shallow basin on an ancient stone floor. A dozen other rags lay beside it, some stained with blood.

He looked back at the hands, eyes trailing up their arms and shoulders and into the face above. The same he’d seen before, her hair now undone and falling in long waves against her back.

“Belle?”

She gasped, and looked over at him. Then her eyes grew soft. “Shh,” she said tenderly, reaching over and dabbing the cool cloth across his brow. “Rest. You’ve only just finished healing.”

 _“Belle,”_ he said, reaching up touching her cheek with a trembling hand. A hand that wasn’t his own—the hand of a man. And suddenly everything that had happened washed over him again.

“Belle,” he said again, barely breathing, staring at his hand, then back into her eyes. “It’s…it’s me.”

“I know.” Her eyes grew moist as she said it, crinkling at the corners.

“It’s _you,”_ he went on. It seemed even harder to believe that the first.

She nodded, reaching up to touch his fingers against her cheek as she so often did. With a sharp breath, she looked away and brushed a sleeve against her eyes. “H-here,” she managed, looking back. “You should drink something.”

Belle pulled a couple more cloths from his chest—which he now realized was bare—then reached behind his shoulders and helped him sit up. They still sat in the dark tower cell, yet now a single candle flickered close by, a thick mat covering the ground beneath him. Belle held him close with one arm, the other picking up a nearby cup and bringing it to his lips.

The water brought out the bitter taste of blood in his mouth, so he drank until it the taste was gone, staring at her all the while. “I’m dreaming…” he whispered at last, taking the cup from her fingers.

“This isn’t a dream,” she smiled.

Adam still watched her, unconvinced, setting the drink aside. Then he reached up to feel her shoulder, testing whether she were really there. She certainly _felt_ real, though her hair was too long, and she wore a strange tunic and— _pants?_ “I…I think that’s what Dream Belle _would_ tell me,” he said belatedly, reaching up and letting his new fingers slip through a few soft strands of her hair.

Belle’s smile grew, though not in jest. “You’re not dreaming, I can assure you,” she said. She stopped, touching his own hair for a moment before sucking in a shaky breath and looking back up at him. “For I’ve been dreaming of you for so long, and this time…this time I know it’s real.”

Adam should have asked what she meant by _so long,_ or how in the world she could really, truly be here beside him. Yet in that instant, something so strong seemed to tug on his heart—tug him _towards_ her— that he knew for himself that this was real too.

His breath caught in his throat at the realization. His arms, tired as they were, wrapped around her in an instant, and he buried his face against her neck. “I thought I’d never see you again,” he choked out.

He was shaking, though as Belle held him back he wondered if she weren’t too. “I missed you so much,” she whispered.

Adam paused; that seemed a strange thing to say. Surely it hadn’t been more than a few hours—how long had he been asleep? “How…how are you here?” he finally managed, still breathless. “Did you follow us through the mirror?”

She shook her head and pulled back, staring at him, eyes exploring each part of his face. Her fingers followed, tracing his brow, touching the hairs along his jaw that had replaced the fur.

Adam closed his eyes, so overcome by her touch he nearly forgot where they were. “The…the enchantress,” he managed after a moment, his racing heart changing pace as he looked anxiously towards the hall. “You shouldn’t be—”

“She isn’t here,” Belle said quickly. “In fact, right now…she’s exactly where we want her to be.”

Adam blinked. “I…I don’t understand. She said…” He stopped, and gasped. “My uncle—she said he’s at the castle! The others, they need to—”

“Adam,” Belle said earnestly, reaching for his shoulders, running calming hands over his skin. “It’s all _right._ Everything is all right, I promise.”

“B-but…” he stammered, remembering it all, remembering her cold, limp form in the snow, and how she could barely even stand as he was forced to leave her. “But you’re sick. The woods…the cold…you should still be recovering…”

“Adam…” Belle stopped. Her eyes looked strangely sad, and almost lonely. “I recovered from that _months_ ago.”

Adam watched her, confused, a strange fear in his chest. He shook his head. “But…I was just with you.”

She sucked in a breath, but went on. “When you traveled through the mirror, you didn’t just go to a new place. You went ahead in time…as well.” She grimaced a bit as she said it, as though knowing just how strange it would sound.  “We’ve, um, been calling it a jump.”

Adam frowned. “I…what?” he asked. “A jump? I don’t…I don’t understand…”

“We think the enchantress was impatient for your transformation to move forward,” she explained. “So she brought you here—er, now—in hopes it would be complete.”

Adam only stared at her. He looked back at her hair, several inches too long. He thought back to the moment he’d fallen through the mirror, gone from a beast to a man in a matter of seconds. And suddenly, heartachingly, he understood.

“…How long?” he asked quietly.

Belle looked into her lap. “Five months,” she whispered. “…Five months, nineteen days.”

He was silent for a long moment, still trying to understand. “Belle…” he said at last.

“It’s—it’s the summer solstice today,” she went on quickly, looking back up.

“Belle.”             

“A-and you’re twenty-one now,” she went on, voice growing higher than normal and betraying her emotions. “And—”

He wove his new arms around her again, pulling her close. “You came for me. All that time when you could have run far from here…but you still came.”

She nodded slowly against his shoulder.

“Gilles is in such deep water.”

A sound of amusement came from her. “He thought you’d say that. But technically, we _did_ leave the palace like you said to.”

Adam shook his head. “No one ever listens to me,” he muttered, only holding her closer. His heart was so full he wondered if it wouldn’t burst at any moment.

“You…you didn’t suffer too long then, did you?” Belle whispered then, pulling back. Her eyes were full of fresh anxiety. “From the change?”

“No. Not long.”

Her shoulders relaxed at that. “I’m glad.”

Adam watched her for a long moment, still unable to believe it. He’d been fully resigned to his fate, prepared to endure a long and miserable life enslaved to the enchantress—yet here Belle was, sitting in front of him, telling him not to worry. Telling him everything was going to be fine. Could he really risk such a hope?

Belle smiled at him, so calm and reassuring, and that tugging pulled at his heart again. He recalled that first day she came, the moment he chose to let her stay, to let himself hope. To hope she could really save him. And right now, he decided he could trust that hope again. And though he still had so many questions, he suddenly decided he didn’t need the answers right now.

He let the feeling in his chest pull him closer, let his new fingertips tuck that sweet strand of hair behind Belle’s ear and trace the edge of her jaw. Oh God, how wonderful her skin felt without a layer of fur between them. He pressed a palm against her cheek, the warmth of her reaching into him.

“You’re so soft,” he whispered.

She closed her eyes. “You’re still so warm,” she sighed, leaning into his hand. He let his fingers slide down her jaw again, let his thumb brush her lips—

And he froze. Then, ever so slowly, he reached back to feel his own.

No fangs.

Belle’s gaze followed his fingers, as though realizing the very same thing. Then she lifted her eyes, and met his. Her chest rose and fell once, then twice, curled fingers resting on his chest and expression full of a deep, desperate longing.

Adam had imagined such a moment more times than he dared admit. And until a few minutes ago, he’d been convinced it could never happen. So convinced that now he suddenly wasn’t sure if…

He was already leaning closer.

_Should I…_

Belle’s lips slowly parted.

_Can I…_

A shallow breath escaped them both. Her eyelids fell.

_Can I **really…**_

Well, whether he could or not…he already had.

To any onlooker, it would have seemed a soft and innocent kiss. Which in truth it was, for neither had kissed before and both ventured in a little scared. Yet it meant far more than most kisses in this world do—a kiss that let forth all the love that had built over months of waiting and longing. And while the room was quiet, still but for the flickering candle, Adam himself was quite convinced those fireworks they’d once seen were going off all around them.

A sweet hum came from Belle’s throat then, and she wove her arms around his shoulders, pulling him in deeper. He reached both arms around her, and pulled her deeper still. His fingers spread over her back, trembling, holding her as close as possible and drinking her in. Belle kissed him back with soft, tender motions, clinging to him with arms that begged only to be held closer.

And in that moment, Adam realized his imagination had fallen vastly short of how wonderful kissing Belle could really be.

Some time passed; neither would remember how much. As they finally relaxed, Adam pulled back, though only barely. Belle opened her eyes, her expression soft, and so familiar. A quiet tear dripped down her cheek.

“Oh, Belle,” he said, brushing it gently away. “…Am I really that bad at it?”

She blinked. “What do you—oh, no! No, it was wonderful, I’m just…” She trailed off, noticing his smile. “Are you…making jokes?” she asked in disbelief. _“Now?”_

Adam grinned. “Maybe.” 

A giggle bubbled up in her throat, then another. He chuckled, even as his heart seemed to soar. Leaning back down, he let his forehead rest against hers, breathing her in, holding her with human arms just like he’d always imagined.

“I love you,” he whispered.

“I love _you,”_ she said, eyes shining in the darkness.

Oh, to hear that those words like this, now that there was no dread of losing her. He craved to say them again, to say them a thousand times, to shout them in the streets and from the rooftops—yet at the same time, to do nothing but breathe them against her skin until his dying breath.

And then that breath caught short. Adam snapped back, hand at his throat, skin cold as ice.

_My oath._

He looked down at the golden bonds, snaking across the floor, visible once again as they wound up and around his neck. Fresh terror filled his heart.

_How did I forget?!_

Yet almost as quickly as it had appeared, the tightness at his throat vanished. Belle’s hands were holding his again, but he barely noticed, for the room had filled with a hundred ear-splitting cracks as each link of the chain fell apart, scattering in pieces across the stone floor. The broken collar dropped into his lap next, and with the rest of the chain, dissolved into blackness—and then dust. It blew into the shadows.

“It’s…gone,” Adam breathed.

Belle simply looked satisfied. As if she’d known this would happen all along.

“But how? I…I agreed to…” _marry her. Do anything she said._ The thought alone was still too much to speak aloud.

“When you made the oath, you were under duress,” Belle explained carefully. “Isn’t that what you told me, when I couldn’t refuse Gaston that night? A promise made under threat holds no power.”

Adam blinked, then shook his head. “No,” he gasped, reality sinking in once again. “No it—it was keeping you _safe,”_ he said in desperation. “As long as I fulfilled my promise to her she swore not to harm you…”

Belle shook her head, squeezing his hand. “If Agathe is right…then we won’t have to worry.”

“Agathe?”

“I’ll explain. But first…” She stood quickly, and Adam let her fingers slip away from him as she ran to the prison cell’s window. Reaching into one pocket, she slid on a thick glove before standing on her toes and reaching through the narrow opening. Adam heard something rustle, then watched as she brought one of the enchanted roses back inside.

She knelt back beside him, stared at the flower for a long moment—then, with her bare hand, reached out to touch one of the long thorns.

“Belle, don’t—!” He stopped, watching with wide eyes as the plant shriveled up at her touch. It, too, dissolved into dust.

She sighed in satisfaction, removing the glove and brushing off her hands. “Just as we thought. Her end of the bargain still stands.”

“But how?” Adam asked in awe. “If I broke my side of the agreement, why should she still fulfill hers?”

“She won’t want to, but she’ll have to.” Belle stopped, smirking. “Because she played herself.”

Pulling back, she reached up and rested a hand against her chest. Adam watched in confusion for a moment, then grew wide-eyed as something thin and silver wove its way between her fingers and towards his own heart.

“We formed this as we broke her curse,” she explained, pulling her hand away as the cord grew brighter. She reached for his hand again. “It’s a bond, far stronger than the one she tried to form with you. Because while her bond was formed by coercion, ours was formed through, um…love.” She flushed as she said it.

Adam didn’t notice, however, for he was reaching towards the bright string with cautious fingers. They only brushed right through it, though he did feel something very strong pull on his heart now that he was paying attention.

“A weaker spell can’t overpower a stronger one,” Belle went on. “And I guess the one between us is stronger than anything she can cast against it. So when we spoke those words again, it broke the bond she had on you…like how it broke her curse on you the first time we said them.”

“Wow…” Adam said in awe, still staring at the shimmering string. Then he smiled, looking back up at her. “I like this.”

Belle looked amused, eyes smiling up at him. “Me too,” she said honestly. “It’s how I knew you would be here.”

Adam brightened. “The same thing—the same thing helped me find you in the woods,” he said quickly, recalling that strange feeling that led him to her through the storm the night Gaston took her. “I didn’t know what it was then, but it must have been this!”

Belle cocked her head. “You know, I’ve been wondering about that,” she said. “How _did_ you reach me that night? The wall…we were well beyond it.”

“Oh,” Adam shrugged. "I climbed it."

“You… _what?”_

He was looking back down at the cord between them, watching it disappear once again. “I’m really free of her, then?” he asked quietly.

Belle’s eyes grew soft again. “You are.”

“And she still can’t hurt you?”

“That’s right,” she said gently. “Though she’s still a threat to this kingdom, as is your uncle. In fact, we’ve…” She trailed off, grimacing. “Sorry. I’m getting ahead of myself.”

Adam felt a tug at the corner of his mouth. “You have already a plan, don’t you?”

It was her turn to shrug. “Maybe,” she smiled, before biting her lip. “Oh Adam, there’s still so much to tell you. Things we need to do. People…people you _must_ see—”

“Can it wait?” He moved close again, pushing back the hair that had fallen into her face and tucking it behind her ear. He let his voice grow low. “Just for a moment.”

Belle looked up slowly. She had a look in her eyes he’d never seen there before, a look that told him the answer before she said the word.

“Yes,” she breathed. He touched her jaw gently, tilting it to face him, and her eyes fell shut as she spoke. “…It can wait.”

* * *

Belle didn’t hear the footsteps in the hall, or the quiet clearing of a throat meant to gain their attention. No, it seemed quite impossible that anything could be occurring outside of this small room. That anything mattered beyond the fact that Adam was presently kissing her.

She’d been waiting for this for months. Ever since they found this terrible fortress last winter, ever since Agathe’s visions had revealed Belle would be here today, waiting for him, caring for him. Nearly half a year of waiting, preparing, hoping. Dreaming each night of this moment. And yet…for as much as she’d wanted this to happen, a small part of her had been afraid. Afraid, because when Gaston had forced such an action on her, she hadn’t liked it at all.

She now realized that whatever Gaston had done was _nothing_ like what Adam was doing right now. Every tender caress, every press of his lips against hers felt like a silent word, sending a new and delicious sensation into her heart, into the tips of her fingers…into a deep, hidden place she’d never known existed until now.

Whoever had cleared their throat now coughed. Loudly.

Adam heard it this time, and pulled back, though his thumb continued to brush her neck as he looked over her shoulder. “Hello?” he asked. His voice was raspy, which could have been a lingering effect of his transformation. Though Belle suspected it was something else.

“It’s probably Gilles,” she whispered.

“Your Highness? Mademoiselle?” someone called out. It was indeed Gilles, standing just out of sight from the cell’s entrance. “Only checking in. While the fortress _is_ secured…I would feel more comfortable if you were both back at camp.”

Belle turned towards the hall. “W-we’ll head down now!” she said, flushing, fingers resting against Adam’s chest. She looked back, now acutely aware that it was still bare, the light-colored hair over its surface doing little to hide what he had become beneath.

“Hey,” he whispered, ducking back down. His voice was full of amusement. “My eyes are up here.”

Belle looked up quickly, the blush crawling into her nose. “I—I’m sorry! You’re just—you’re different now, and I…”

She trailed off, distracted yet again as he reached up to hold one of her hands. “I was just teasing,” he said warmly, lifting it to his lips. He kissed it softly, watching her as he did so. His smile grew wide then, eyes bright and as blue as ever. In fact, Belle had never seen him look so happy.

Or, of course, so attractive.

“H-here,” she said quickly, trying desperately to tame a fresh blush as she reached behind her and tugged her pack into her lap. “We weren’t, um, sure what size you would be…but I brought several options.”

Adam watched curiously as she pulled out a shirt from the bag and held it against him.

“Mmm, no, that’s _too_ small,” she muttered, tucking it away and trying another. “There! That’s good. The pants will be a little harder, but I’ll lay a few out for you to try.” She paused. “Will you be okay on your own?”

Adam raised his brows in surprise.

“Oh! I just, I just meant I could—I could go get Barthélémy to help you…”

“I think I can manage,” he smiled, with obvious amusement.

Belle nodded, and stepped quickly into the hall to give him some privacy. She leaned against the wall, resting her head against the stone and staring at the ceiling.

 _Sacrebleu,_ she thought, heart thundering in her chest. _Sacrebleu…he’s so handsome!_

Of course, she’d already seen him in his human form now for several long hours as he slept. But she’d been so overwhelmed by the fact that he was really here, so focused on his care—on keeping cool cloths against his tender skin, on cleaning the dried blood from his temples and the sides of his mouth from where his horns and fangs had pushed out of the flesh—that she really hadn’t had a chance to consider his new form.

Now, however, she was certainly considering it.

She felt her face swell with heat, resting a hand over her heart in an attempt to tame its fluttering. _Good grief! I’m acting like Paulette,_ she thought. Hearing movement from the doorway, she pushed herself quickly away from the wall.

“So, uh…” Adam stood beneath the stone entrance, scratching the back of his head. He’d chosen a pair of deep blue-gray breeches, and had managed to tuck in the shirt at the waist. He cleared his throat, finally looking up at her. “…H-how do I look?”

Incredibly _dashing_ was how he looked. Belle’s flush returned in full force.

Before she could even respond, however, he seemed to remember something. “Just a second,” he said, turning on his toes and heading back into the room. “Is my old shirt still—ah, there.” He fumbled around for a few moments, then stepped back into the hall, a small folded parchment in one hand.

“What’s that?” Belle asked curiously.

He looked down at it fondly, then handed it over. Belle unfolded it with care, surprised to see a short letter in her own writing on one side and a sketch on the other that looked remarkably like the man who stood in front of her. It seemed an eternity since she’d given it to him; she’d nearly forgotten.

“I was a little worried she would take it away from me,” he explained. “But I, um…I wanted a part of you with me, I guess.” He swallowed, reaching down and pulling her into another hug. “I still can’t believe you’re here,” he whispered into her hair.

Belle’s chest filled with warmth, pressing the drawing to her chest as she rested her head against his shoulder. She could do that now.

“Hey,” he said, pulling back a little. “You _are_ pretty tall.”

“I told you so!” she said in amusement, though she figured that more than anything he’d just shrunk. After a moment, however, she grew a bit self-conscious. “Is that…okay?”

He smiled warmly. “Of course it is. In fact…I feel extra close to you now,” he admitted, pulling her back against him.

Belle sighed softly. She’d always loved the feeling of Adam’s embrace. It had been possible, of course, that some of the warmth and security of his previous self would have been lost in a smaller, human body, but she was pleased to discover that this wasn’t so. For not only was he still a man of significant stature, but all the warmth and tenderness of him had remained. She sighed again, enjoying the feeling for another long moment—for the months without him had truly been long, and lonely.

That moment ended abruptly, however, as she felt herself picked up off her feet. One arm behind her knees and the other tight around her waist, Adam stared at her straight on, grinned—then spun her around in the empty landing.

Belle’s laughter was almost immediately replaced by a squeal of surprise, for as quickly as he’d started the spin they both went tumbling down. Adam wound up breaking their fall as his back slammed against the wall, sliding slowly to the floor with Belle in tow.

“Oof!” he huffed, the two of them now in a tangled heap on the damp ground.

“Adam!” she cried, pulling back and looking him over in alarm. “Are you all right?”

He nodded, despite looking little dazed. He reached for her shoulder then, coming to himself. “Are you?”

“Yes, yes I’m fine.” She paused, quirking a brow. “…What happened?”

He frowned. “I don’t know.” Belle stepped out of his lap, then helped him back to his feet. He rested a hand against the wall to steady himself, scrunching his brows as he looked himself over. “My balance is all off, but I can’t figure out what’s wrong,” he said, almost to himself, one hand patting his chest, his hips, then finally winding up on his backside. His eyes grew wide, and he looked back up at her in an instant. “Do you think it’s because I lost my tail?”

“Maybe. But I’d bet it’s more so because you’re on your _toes,”_ Belle pointed out.

In some confusion, he looked down at his feet. “Oh! Oh, yeah. My backwards knees—they’re heels again.”

“Your…backwards knees?” she asked, starting to smile.

“Well, that’s not really what they were,” he said matter-of-factly, slowly lowering his heels to the floor. He wrinkled his nose a bit at the sensation, but went on. “I looked it up once and realized I was technically a digitigrade being—like a dog or a wolf, that has heels but doesn’t walk on them. But I still always thought of them as my backwards, um…knees…” He looked up then, noticing Belle’s amusement. “What?”

“I just missed you so much,” she grinned.

His cheeks grew scarlet in an instant.

Belle couldn’t tame her chuckles at that. “You really _do_ get red when you’re embarrassed!”

Adam’s mouth fell open. “H-how…how did you know that?!” he cried.

“Your ears would turn pink,” she grinned, stepping close and reaching up to touch one. “Here on the tips, where the fur was thinner.”

“O-oh,” he stammered. He flushed even brighter, to Belle’s utter delight.

Pulling back, Belle noticed the sketch that had fallen from her hands before. She retrieved it quickly and held it up in both hands. “Not to toot my own horn,” she said, “but this is actually quite accurate.”

“Really?” Adam asked, his cheeks slowly returning to their normal color, staring down at the drawing again. He touched his face, and Belle realized he hadn’t even seen it yet.

Smiling, she reached for his hand. “Come here,” she said, guiding him towards the stairway. As they walked, Adam took careful, deliberate steps beside her, clearly focused on recalling just how to walk on human feet. She noticed his shoulders were terribly hunched over, his head jutting out much like it had before, but decided to remain silent on that for now. One change at a time would probably be best.

“Take a look,” she said softly, pointing towards one of the large mirrors lining the stairwell. The mirrors here were bright, and seemed like new, a strange juxtaposition to the rest of the crumbling tower. But she didn’t worry if the enchantress could look through them anymore—for Agathe had taken care of that.

Adam paused at the edge of the mirror, then stepped slowly in front of it. He stared at his reflection for a long, breathless moment, then straightened his shoulders on his own before reaching up to touch his face. A long minute passed, then another as he watched himself with unblinking eyes.

Eventually, Belle moved to his side, reaching for his arm. “Are you all right?” she asked carefully.

He nodded slowly, watching them both in the reflection. Then the corner of his mouth quirked up, and he took the drawing from her hand and held it up beside his face. “I think you underestimated the size of my nose.”

Belle laughed, shaking her head at him. She could tell he was teasing this time. And the fact that he could barely suppress his grin told her he was more than happy with how he’d turned out.

She glanced once more at the two of them in the mirror. Adam met her eyes in the reflection, then turned to meet them in person. He smiled, then leaned down to kiss her once again. A single, soft kiss, lasting only a moment. Though it was more than enough for Belle to wish it was longer.

“I’m so happy,” he breathed, pulling back. He sucked in a breath—a shaky one, overflowing with emotion. “I’ve…I’ve never felt his happy.”

Belle’s heart seemed to swell in her breast. For while she was only starting to realize it, her happiness was now interwoven with Adam’s. “I still have something to tell you,” she said softly. “Something that will make you even happier.”

He shook his head, running his fingers through her hair again. “I don’t think that’s possible.”

Boots sounded on the steps then, and Adam looked up. He blinked in surprise. “Gilles?” he asked. “Is…is that you?”

Gilles still wore the general’s uniform he’d been disguised in before, though the helmet had been abandoned. “Yes, my prince,” he replied, bowing low before looking back up. He looked unusually moved at the sight of them, not unlike a father seeing a child after many months away.

Adam bounded over then—somewhat haphazardly—and wrapped the thinner man in an enormous bear hug.

“I was expecting you to be quite cross with me, Your Highness,” Gilles observed, voice a bit muffled and barely managing to return the embrace.

“I am. Very cross,” Adam said, pulling away and grinning ear to ear. He looked around suddenly, then back to Gilles. “Are the others here too?” he asked excitedly. 

“Many await you back at camp, though the rest are busy finishing the preparations.”

“Preparations?”

“Ah,” Gilles said, with a knowing look. “So you have not discussed it yet, mm? What _else_ could you two have been up to all this time?”

It was Belle’s turn to grow scarlet. “S-Sire Gilles!” she cried. Adam merely sported a goofy smile.

“Come!” Gilles said, barely concealing his amusement. “They are quite eager to see you.” He paused, turning back to Belle. “My dear, may I hold your blade for now?”

“Oh!” Belle said, looking behind her. “I’ve forgotten it upstairs.”

“Wait…your what?” Adam asked in shock.

“We’ll retrieve it for you later, not to worry,” Gilles said simply. Pulling the ancient mirror from his belt, he paused. “Do not be alarmed, my lord.”

“Alarmed?” Adam asked, now even more confused.

An instant later, Agathe appeared beside them, smiling ear to ear.

“Woah!” Adam cried, very much alarmed despite the warning. He threw out an arm in front of Belle on impulse.

Belle just smiled, gently pulling his arm back down. “It’s all right, Adam. She’s with us.”

He blinked, looking back at Belle before staring down at the woman before them. The top of Agathe’s head barely reached Adam’s hips, but that didn’t stop her from grabbing his wrist and tugging him with some force down to her level.

“Oh, what a _looker!”_ she cried, chuckling to herself and giving him a fond pat on the cheek.

Adam looked thoroughly perplexed, now forced into a crouch. “Um…who are you?”

“Why, I’m the old lady who’s been at your side all these years!”

Adam raised a brow. “…What?”

“Adam,” Belle said slowly, crouching beside him and reaching for his arm again. “This is Agathe. She was the enchantress’s teacher until she was imprisoned in the hand mirror she gave you. We figured out how to free her after you were taken.”

Adam blinked. “She…” He stopped, looking back at Agathe, then up at the mirror in Gilles’ hand. “You…were what?”

Gilles handed him the old mirror, and he stared at it for a long moment. Then he opened his mouth as if to ask it something.

“It won’t answer you now,” Agathe said. “Without me inside, it’s nothing but an old, beloved relic I’ve carried all my life.”

Adam looked at Agathe, then the mirror, then back again. “Oh, God…” he finally realized. “I’m—I’m so sorry! I didn’t realize you were… Y-you didn’t talk, so I thought you were just…” He trailed off, grimacing in discomfort.

“Don’t worry, young prince,” Agathe said, patting his arm affectionately. “No harm done.”

Adam nodded, standing to his feet once again. He looked troubled. “There’s something I don’t understand, then,” he began. “If you’re on our side…why would the enchantress have given you to me?” He stepped slowly in front of Belle, narrowing his eyes. “What if you’re working for her?”

“Adam,” Belle said earnestly. “Agathe’s been helping us this whole time. We could never have found you without her.”

“It’s all right, child,” Agathe said to Belle, growing serious. “It’s a valid question, though it’s one I can’t answer with certainty. I do, however, have my suspicions.” She sighed, looking towards one of the dim, narrow windows. “Those who commit great wrongs will naturally find discomfort in any reminder of them. Guilt is quite powerful that way. I believe the longer she had me around, the more shame my presence drove into her heart. I was kept in a dark drawer for some years, but even that wasn’t enough for her. At one point I was convinced she would smash me any day—”

Adam flinched at that.

“But strangely, she never did. Instead, I found myself in your hands, Prince Adam. No doubt she supposed it would be an even greater punishment for me.”

“A punishment?” Adam asked in confusion. “I would think the palace would be better than a dark drawer.”

Agathe raised a brow. “Do you know what many teenage boys would ask to see if they had such a mirror?” she prodded. “A mirror that could show them _anything?”_

Adam cocked his head curiously. “No. What?”

Agathe chuckled to herself again, and even Gilles cracked a grin. “Ah, such a pure soul,” she said vaguely. “Even when you checked in on our dear Belle, it was always a question of safety—never an invasion of privacy.”

Belle flushed. She hadn’t even considered such a possibility. Perhaps because she could never imagine Adam abusing the mirror’s power in such a way.

Adam himself just shrugged. “Well, sure. I certainly wouldn’t want someone seeing _me_ when I was…” He trailed off, and frowned. “Wait a minute…if you were the mirror, then you…you were in my room when I—” He stopped again, growing pale as a sheet.

Agathe burst into laughter at that. “Oh honey, don’t worry. You were so covered in fur I couldn’t have seen anything even if I wanted to.”

Adam blinked once. Then, slowly, his eyes grew wide as saucers as every inch of visible skin turned a deep red.

Belle, for her part, simply covered her face. _Agathe!_

Yet the old woman had already turned around, pressing two small, wrinkled hands against the mirror to their left. An image appeared there—tall green grass, swaying in the summer wind. “Come!” she said cheerfully, turning back to face them. “Let you be gone of this miserable place. For there are those on the other side anxiously awaiting your return.”

* * *

They stepped out of the sea itself on the other side. A tide pool, still and shallow, reflecting the clear skies overhead. The fortress wasn’t far—just a lieu north from where Belle and Adam now stood. Gilles and Agathe had remained behind for now.

Adam walked slowly onto the main shore, gripping Belle’s hand tight, staring at the flowing grass on the bank above before turning back to the waves behind them.

“The ocean…” he breathed, watching it with eyes full of wonder. “I’ve only seen it in the mirror…” He took one step into the water, then another, smile growing wide as a short wave crashed against his ankles.

Belle smiled too; she’d already seen the ocean by now, though it had never held as much pleasure as it could have knowing Adam wasn’t yet with her. But to be with him the first time he was truly free of his palace prison, free from the enchantress’s clutches—well, it suddenly seemed the most glorious sight she’d seen. 

Arm stretched out behind him, Adam still held Belle’s hand, turning back with an expression full of joy. “This was what you wanted to show me?” he asked.

Belle shook her head, heart starting to race in anticipation. “No. It's much better.”

“Belle.” He stepped back to her side again, reaching for her other hand. “I’m with you. That’s all I wanted.”

Belle smiled at him warmly. “It’s not some _thing_ I need to show you…but someone,” she explained. “Two someones, in fact.”

“Mrs. Potts?” he asked. “Chip? Or Lumiere and Cogsworth?”

Belle shook her head. “No, though you’ll see them soon as well.”

He cocked his head. “Then who?”

Belle sucked in a breath, deciding to start with the most believable first. “When we found the fortress in January, we also found all of the enchantress’s prisoners. And among them…” She stopped, squeezing his hands. “Among them, we found…”

“…My father,” Adam realized. He was barely breathing now, holding her hands tight. He looked slowly towards the cliff side, where a few voices were floating through the wind. “Oh my God…” he gasped. “Is he alive? I-is…is he here?”

“Yes,” Belle said softly.

Adam sucked in a shaky breath, unblinking, still staring in the direction of camp. “I…” he started. “I have to…” He didn’t finish, releasing one of her hands and tugging her along by the other in a desperate, clumsy run through the sand.

“Adam, wait—” Belle said, slowing her feet and forcing him to still. “There’s someone else.”

He stopped, reluctantly, glancing back at her with an unreadable expression.

She had to tell him. He needed to understand before he saw them. It had been decided already, after all, and the task had been given to her. “When your mother was lost in the woods…the wolves never found her,” she started slowly.

Adam, who had returned a longing gaze towards the cliff above, now turned back to face her fully. “W-what are you…what are you talking about?” he breathed.

“The way the witch sent you ahead in time…she did the same for your mother. But instead of months, she went ahead years.” Belle paused, heart thundering in her chest. “Adam, she…she never died.”

Adam’s hand had slowly moved to his face as she spoke, the palm now pressed against his mouth in shock. And for the very first time, Belle witnessed those blue eyes fill with the tears she’d known must be shed at times, but had always been hidden from her.

He moved his hand up then, ducking his head and covering his eyes. “Sh-she…she…” he choked out, unable to say more, a small tremble starting in his hands and working its way into his shoulders.

Belle reached her arms back around him, holding him for a long minute as he tried to process the news. A warm ocean breeze blew through their clothes then, the air silent now but for the gentle waves against the shore.

“Are you ready to see them?” she whispered at last.

Still hiding his eyes, Adam just nodded. Then he brushed them quickly against his sleeve, letting Belle guide him up the shallow hill to those waiting for him.

* * *

Adam stood at the outskirts of a camp in the grass, facing the entrance of a large tent. The ocean breeze blew the flap back, though he was strangely nervous to even catch a glimpse of what was inside.

If Belle herself hadn’t told him, he wouldn’t have believed it. He felt someone squeeze his hand then, and remembered she was still beside him. Belle smiled in encouragement, then released his hand and pulled back the canvas flap. Heart racing, he ducked down and stepped inside.

A rug covered the floor, and a woman was frantically pacing it. A thin man sat in a chair, a sturdy cane resting nearby. As some of the morning sunlight spilt inside, they both looked up in an instant.

 _“Oh,”_ the woman said, rushing over on anxious feet. She stopped, however, just before reaching him, instead lifting a tentative hand. Her face was awash with emotion.

For a long moment, Adam was unable to do anything but stare at her, breathless, eyes wandering over her face. He now realized that after so long, his memories had warped her true image. The details had been erased, replaced by fuzzy, faded features that were suddenly crisp and staring back at him in full life.

“Adam,” the woman whispered. “Darling, I—”

Yet before she could finish, he took a slow step forward and pulled her into his arms. _“Maman,”_ he croaked. His cheeks were wet again, but he made no effort to hide them this time.

Behind them, the man had slowly made his way over. He had a bit of a limp, but hadn’t bothered with the cane. He rested a hand on Adam’s shoulder, his own eyes full of tears at the sight of him.

“P-Papa,” Adam managed, keeping one arm wrapped around his crying mother and pulling the man close with the other. They each returned his embrace in full, arms tangled, the small, broken family finally all together once again.

His mother’s hand was on his face now, brushing back his tears, tender in the way she had always been. “Just look at you,” she said softly, eyes glistening. “So handsome! So like your father. Just look…look how you’ve grown…” She fell silent then, bringing her hands to her face and ducking her head. “I wasn’t there,” she whispered, beginning to weep again. “I-I wasn’t there for you…”

“Maman…” Adam said anxiously, returning his full embrace to her, rubbing her arm in an effort to stop her tears. “Maman, it’s all right. Please… _please_ don’t cry…”

Yet she would not be comforted, simply shaking her head in her grief.

“Jacqueline,” Papa said, wrapping his own arm around her. “The fault is mine. I…I failed to protect you both.”

Adam, at a loss for words, watched them with some helplessness. He held his mother close, her limbs trembling, body now so small against him, opposite of how things used to be. His father squeezed his eyes shut, an arm over his wife’s shoulders and his other hand curled into a fist of regret.

And Adam remembered. Remembered the horror of losing Maman, her empty grave back at the palace grounds. Remembered the anger he’d unwittingly felt towards his father for leaving him behind, for somehow causing this mess in the first place. Yet now, though he searched his heart for it, that grief and anger was nowhere to be found.

“You _were_ there, Maman,” he said quietly. He looked over at Papa in earnest. “Both of you. Because I never forgot you. Everything…” He stopped, sucking in a breath. “Everything I am is _because_ of you.”

At last, his mother’s trembling ceased, and his father looked back at him with relief, and gratitude. “Well,” the king began, starting to smile. “You certainly got your dashing good looks from me.”

“Oh, Alex! Of all the times,” Maman chided, though she was smiling now too.

Adam just laughed—a warm, full laugh that scattered the remaining nerves in his chest. “Papa, you wouldn’t be claiming that if you’d seen me earlier.”

“As a matter of fact, I _did_ see you,” Papa said. “For a moment, anyway. You were enormous! And your young lady told me you climbed the giant sequoia in our woods. Tell me, son,” he said, reaching for his shoulder and leaning close, “upon closer inspection, were the needles quite as blue as they appear from the ground?”

“Are we really going to discuss botany now, Alex?” Maman cried. “I want to hear about _him!”_

Adam wasn’t paying attention just then, however, for something Papa said had given him pause. He looked towards the entrance, then back at his parents. “I’ll be right back,” he promised, squeezing his mother’s hand once before dashing towards the door.

The sunlight blinded him for a moment, but then he saw her. Belle stood a few paces away, alone, leaning against the tent’s corner beam and staring absently at the distant shore. Her chest rose and fell more rapidly than it should at rest, her hair billowing in the ocean breeze. An effort was made to tuck it behind her ear, though it slipped loose again in a moment. She didn’t seem to notice.

Adam moved over silently, and slipped his fingers in hers—something his giant paws had never been able to do before.

She looked back quickly, taking a split second longer than normal to recognize him. “Oh! Adam,” she gasped.

He smiled, nodding towards the entrance. “Won’t you come in too?” he asked.

She looked that way, then back at him. “Oh no, it’s—it’s all right,” she said quickly. “I wouldn’t want to interrupt—”

“I want you with me,” he said in earnest. “With us.”

Belle’s expression softened, her shoulders relaxing where she stood. She nodded.

And so they went back inside together, talking and sharing and despite everything, even laughing. And Adam realized that Belle—the one who’d finally brought his family back together—was the one he’d needed for that family to really feel complete again.

* * *

A boy stopped in his tracks. He huffed once, twice, legs protesting beneath him, the blisters on his fingers burning as he adjusted the grip on his crutches.

Chip—for he still thought of himself as much, though that old enchantress lady had restored the broken tooth months ago—stared at a large piece of driftwood near the hill’s edge just ahead. As he did, a thought he knew he shouldn’t think crossed his mind.

_Sometimes…I miss being a teacup._

It wasn’t the first time he thought so, and he knew he should be happy to be human. And much of the time he was. But the happy times didn’t make it hurt less, nor did they help his slow, tired limbs get him where he wanted to go any faster.

Of course, food was amazing. Cookies and cakes were his favorites, naturally, but he rarely refused anything served to him. Well, except turnips. He didn’t like those at all. And of course there were a hundred new things to smell, and feel with his fingertips, and rivers and lakes he could dip his feet in and splash about. And every morning he would do his best to brush down Maggie, and if Papa had time he would take him out for long rides on the stallion’s back.

Best of all, though, was just being able to hug and _be_ hugged. Chip didn’t think he’d ever want to go back to the time he didn’t have that.

Yet for all the new and fun things, mortality hadn’t held back its harsher side even for the castle’s youngest occupant. Having never contracted so much as a cold in his short life, Chip’s body was unprepared to face disease of any kind. He’d fallen ill a half dozen times already, and once, when she thought he wasn’t listening, he’d heard Mama said tearfully that if it hadn’t been for Agathe they might have lost him to the last round of fevers.

Beyond that, of course, learning to move had posed plenty of challenges alone. At first, he’d been excited to learn, as Chip approached most things in life with curiosity and excitement. But as it turned out, learning to walk was not only difficult, but painful.

He sighed. What he _really_ wanted to do was run. All the other children did. He’d met some of them in the nearby villages, but always found himself left alone while they ran off to play.

Chip stared back at the driftwood ahead. His marker, and a place he could sit and wait for Papa to come get him later. If he could _just_ make it there today on his own, maybe there was hope he could run just as far this time next year.

The voices back at camp started to swell, one thundering over the others. “Cogsworth!” it cried. “Mrs. Potts! _Look_ at us!”

Laughter ensued, but Chip didn’t look back. He focused on that log, grit his teeth, and forced himself to move again.

He heard harsh barking behind him then. “Max!” the same voice said, drifting through the wind. “Woah, buddy…it’s me!” The barking stopped briefly, and after a long pause was quickly replaced by Max’s happy yapping.

 _Almost there!_ Chip thought, still focused on his task. Shuffling one foot forward, he hit the bark’s edge with his toe before letting himself slowly slide to the ground. Lying on his back, he grinned at the sky, satisfied.

A shape blocked the clouds a minute later. A young man with undone hair stared down at him, and smiled.

Chip looked him over—he wasn’t even wearing shoes. “Hey…who’re you?” he frowned.

“Ah, Chip,” the man said, cocking his head. “You don’t remember me?”

The voice sort of sounded familiar, now that he thought about it. Chip managed to slowly sit back up, and the man crouched beside him, waiting patiently. Max ran up beside them at that moment, jumping up on the man and nipping playfully at his ear.

“Hey, none of that anymore!” the young man chuckled, rubbing the dog behind the ears before pushing him gently down and looking back at Chip. He noticed the man’s big blue eyes then, and his own suddenly grew bright.

“Master?” he asked in amazement.

The new man grinned wide, and nodded.

Chip gasped in excitement, and soon found himself swept up and into a warm hug. Master had a beard like Papa’s that tickled his cheek, but it wasn’t nearly so long or dark as it had been before.

“Master, you got changed too,” Chip observed, pulling back and looking him up and down. “You’re real small now, huh?”

The prince—who, unbeknownst to Chip, was still the tallest man in camp—laughed heartily at that. “And you’re huge!” he exclaimed. “You’ll be bigger than me before you know it.”

“You think so?” Chip asked in amazement.

“I wouldn’t be surprised. Did you walk all this way alone?”

“Yep,” Chip said proudly, puffing out his small chest—for Master’s responding smile made the feat seem even grander than before.

Reaching for Chip’s crutches, Master grabbed them with one hand and picked Chip up with the other, carrying him back towards the others. From here, Chip could see Belle and Sophie talking. He gave them a wave, and Belle caught sight of them and waved back.

“Hey, Master?” Chip started.

“Mm?”

He sucked in an impatient breath. “Are you gonna marry Belle _now?”_ he asked in earnest.

Master paused in his tracks, looked around for any prying ears, then leaned close to whisper. “I hope so. But keep it a secret, okay?”

Chip grinned. “Don’t worry! Papa made me promise not to tell anybody he was gonna ask Sophie to be my new Maman. And I haven’t said _anything.”_

Master pulled back, and raised a brow.

Chip gasped in realization. “Oops.”

* * *

For ten long years, the years he’d been the most hurt and the most alone, there had been no one in Adam’s life to so much as rest a hand on his shoulder in reassurance. In fact, there was more than one occasion when, well into the depth of night, he would sit before the fire, close his eyes, and wrap his arms around his own frame—so desperate was he for even a small taste of what the warmth of another might feel like.

And then Belle came, and he finally felt it again. Slowly, carefully at first, too ashamed of himself to think she would want him close. Then finally realizing she did, it was the touches he couldn’t give he began to ache for.

Then today happened. He still had no idea how, all he knew was that he’d finally held her, finally _kissed_ her like he’d been longing to do for so long. Yet that wasn’t all—he’d embraced the mother and father he thought long gone, as well as every one of the dozens of servants who filled the small camp. He felt so loved, so alive… so _human._

 _You are human!_ he reminded himself, heat beating wildly at the thought. It didn’t seem to sit still in his chest for more than a few minutes before leaping into excitement yet again. Beaming to himself, Adam looked down at his fingers, woven with Belle’s where they sat. Though a glorious sunset colored the waves before them, he couldn’t seem to look away from their hands. He flexed his fingers, just to check that they were truly his, then tucked them tighter in hers. _Our hands fit together now,_ he thought warmly.

“Heels, my love.”

Adam didn’t register her first word, solely absorbed in the latter two. He looked up at Belle, smiling stupidly, before realizing she had reached across his knees and was gently pushing his heels back to the ground.

“Oh,” he said belatedly. He dug his heels in the sand in an effort to force them to stay, for it still felt so strange. “Thanks,” he said, humming and leaning down to press his lips to her temple.

Belle leaned into it for a long moment, then pulled back and looked behind them. Adam turned, following her gaze. His old valet approached slowly, pausing before bowing low. “My prince,” Barthélémy said. “Forgive me, but I’ve been asked to show you to your tent and see to your needs.”

Adam squeezed Belle’s hand once more, then stood. “That’s fine,” he said happily.

Barthélémy nodded. “We can fit you to some more proper attire,” he went on, motioning back towards camp, “and address the issue of footwear.”

Adam grimaced at that. “You mean…shoes?”

“I’m afraid so, my lord,” Barthélémy said. If he found his prince’s response amusing, he didn’t show it. “We should have time to give you a good shave as well before supper.”

“Oh, don’t do that!” Belle said suddenly.

Adam and Barthélémy both raised their brows, turning back to look at her in unison.

“I-I mean…you can keep the beard. If you…if you _want_ to…” she backtracked, cheeks growing as pink as the sunset behind her.

Barthélémy managed to conceal most of his smile, if barely. Adam, on the other hand, now looked wildly amused. “Just a trim, then?” he grinned, turning back to his valet.

A half-hour later, Adam emerged from one of the larger tents. He tugged at his hair, now pulled back into a low ponytail, trying to wiggle his toes which were presently trapped in two leather prisons.

A dozen paces later, he stopped, plopped down on a nearby bench, and tugged off the offensive footwear.

“You’ll have to get used to them, eventually.”

He looked up, smiling at the familiar voice. Belle was there again, finally changed out of her soldier’s disguise and into a light summer dress the color of daffodils. Her long hair was tied back with a simple cream-colored ribbon, tumbling over her shoulder. Her eyes flitted towards the boots he’d dumped beside one of the tents, then back at him. “You can’t go riding without shoes, you know,” she teased him.

Adam only perked up at that. “Riding?” he asked in excitement. Then he stood, cocking his head. “Belle…what _is_ going on?”

“We’ll talk over dinner,” she said, reaching for his hand. “The others can explain better than I.”

He nodded. With the sun now set, he caught sight of several fires along the shoreline. A light wind whipped their flames against the darkness, and Adam felt a sharp chill run up his spine. As they walked, it only grew worse. He reached across his chest, trying to hold in what heat he could, and looked over at Belle. Despite her short sleeves, she didn’t seem perturbed by the cold at all.

She paused, looking over and noticing his discomfort. “Are you all right?” she asked.

“I’m just…I’m _freezing,”_ he admitted. “Aren’t you?”

She looked immediately concerned. “Oh no, I hope you’re not feverish again,” she said anxiously, reaching up and feeling his brow. “Maybe I should go find Agathe and…” She paused, looking suddenly amused. “Oh…wait.”

Adam rubbed at this arms now. He could feel a thin layer of hair through his shirt, sticking up on end and doing absolutely nothing to keep out the cold.

_Oh._

By now, Belle was chuckling at him. “D-don’t laugh!” Adam stammered, teeth starting to chatter.

“What’s this?” Someone had wandered over, and Adam looked up to see Mrs. Potts before them, a large empty pot hanging over one arm.

“I’m just, um…a little cold,” he admitted.

“Oh, you poor dear! Not used to that bare skin in the evening air,” she asserted, “I’ll put on a kettle. A nice cup of oolong should warm you right up.” She turned, spotting someone passing by. “Aimé! Go fetch the Master his cloak, and tell Damien to add more logs to the king’s fire.”

“Yes, Mrs. Potts!” the teen replied, running off to fulfill the task.

Belle was still laughing, though she’d managed to conceal it behind a hand. “At least Mrs. _Potts_ is concerned for me,” Adam muttered in jest, watching the old housekeeper head off to start the tea.

“Ah, I’m concerned,” Belle insisted, wrapping both arms around him and rubbing his opposite arm. “Though…it might help if you put your shoes back on.”

“Mmm,” Adam hummed, looking back where he’d abandoned his boots. He shook his head. “Not worth it.”

They were soon settled along the beach by one of the grand bon fires, filling their stomachs with a warm meal and watching the embers float into the summer night sky. Adam’s mother and father sat in chairs the servants had brought down, as did Maurice, while Agathe sat cross-legged on a small mat upon the sand. Gilles stood near the edge of the circle, alert as always, prodding at a small bowl of soup in his hands. Belle and Adam had opted to share a seat on a large piece of driftwood, unwilling to be any further apart.

Adam felt a hand on his head then, looking over to see his mother looking at him fondly. She ran her fingers over his hair, then quickly returned her hand and her gaze to her lap.

Chest full of warmth, Adam reached over for her hand. Maman looked back over, almost in tears again, squeezing his hand in hers and running gentle fingers over his arm with the other. Perhaps he was a bit old for such motherly attention, but he wouldn’t deny it to her. He didn’t want to anyway, especially not today.

From Maman’s other side, his father caught his eye. He gave him a warm smile and a wink, before reaching a still-thin arm around his wife’s shoulders.

It was so much. Too much, almost, to fully comprehend. Adam would have still wondered if this all weren’t some elaborate dream…but no. Even his own wistful imaginings had never been as wonderful as this.

“So,” Papa began, setting his dish aside and turning to his son. “No doubt you’re wondering just what is going on here.”

“I suppose,” Adam admitted. “Though to be honest…I’m not sure I want to spoil my bliss.”

The others chuckled. “Don’t worry, son,” his father smiled. “I think what we have to tell you will add to it.”

Adam just frowned, finally forcing himself to think of things he’d really rather not. “But…is it true that Victor has the palace?” he asked in reluctance. “How can that be a good thing?” He stopped, eyes growing wide. “Oh, no…what of the surrounding villages in his path? Wherever he goes…he—”

Papa raised a hand to stop him. “Of Victor’s actions, I was made aware,” he said darkly. “And he will pay severely for his crimes. Yet for now, each village was quietly warned of his coming. My brother’s reputation precedes him—the warning alone was enough to ensure any vulnerable individuals were sent away before he passed through.” The king paused, wrinkling his nose. “From Monsieur Lumiere’s reports, Victor was quite irritated at the lack of young women along his journey.”

Adam mimicked his father’s expression of disgust, despite his relief. He really hated hearing about his uncle. “Lumiere?” he asked belatedly.

“Oh, well yes,” Papa shrugged. “He was sent to persuade Victor to make the venture in the first place.”

“You…you _wanted_ Victor to take over the palace?” Adam asked in disbelief.

“It is advisable to engage the enemy on your own territory when possible,” Gilles said, stepping into the circle. “In fact…we have several operations in place to turn the fight in our own favor when we attack.”

Adam scrunched his brows, taking a moment to process that. “Wait, so…we’re going to storm the castle?” he realized. “…Our _own_ castle?”

“Brilliant, isn’t it?” his father asked.

Adam just blinked. Brilliant wasn’t quite the word he would have chosen. “But…but Victor, and all his men… _and_ the enchantress?” he asked. “How will we ever face them all at once?”

“Ah, but that is the key.” It was Agathe who spoke now, eyes still closed as she sat before the fire. “Ironically, it is when our two enemies are together that they are the weakest.”

When Adam cocked his head, she went on, explaining the source of their magic, explaining the terrible way her apprentice had chosen to gain it. Her apprentice who, Adam learned, actually had a name.

 _Circe,_ he thought, trying to wrap his head around that. He wasn’t sure whether knowing the enchantress’s name made him feel more or less uneasy about her.

Certainly no more uneasy that the images of a life-draining kiss or, worse, the way she literally stole men’s hearts. He recalled the story Circe had told Belle along the trail to the palace, trying to claim he himself desired such a terrible prize. He clenched his fists in anger. To think the real beast of that story had been the enchantress herself the whole time!

And then he understood.

“You’re using her to weaken uncle’s army,” he breathed, eyes growing wide at the realization.

“Precisely,” Agathe nodded solemnly. “He has hundreds of strong, powerful soldiers. It would be far too much of a temptation for Circe to stay away.”

Adam frowned. He wasn’t sure how he felt about this. He’d decided long ago that killing the enchantress was the only way to stop her, but was it right to involve others in her defeat? Of course he knew his uncle and his men were among the cruelest of their species, but were they _all_ to blame? And even if they were…was it still right to sacrifice them in such a way?

“We thought you might not like this,” Papa said, sensing his hesitation. “In fact, Belle wasn’t too comfortable with the idea either, nor your mother. But I’ve had enough of this,” he said firmly, clenching a fist in his lap. “You need not feel any guilt, for this decision was mine, and mine alone.” He paused, relaxing again and leaning back in his seat. “I _am_ the king, after all.”

From the shadows, Gilles smirked—no doubt in favor of this plan.

“Besides, we don’t think she’ll resort to killing the men,” Belle offered quietly. “Just draining their strength, like she did with the prisoners at the fortress. She prefers to…well, she prefers to keep her victims alive when she can, so she can reuse their strength later.”

Adam pursed his lips, but nodded.  “And what of the—of Circe?” he asked. It felt strange to use her name, but he realized it might be little confusing to simply call her the enchantress, given Agathe herself was known by such a title. He shook his head, and went on. “Even if uncle’s army is weakened, won’t she now be even harder to defeat if she gains all their strength?”

“Ah, but you forget,” Agathe said, raising a finger. “You made a promise with her. Do you recall what it was?”

Adam wrinkled his brow. “She promised not to harm my household,” he recalled. “Or Belle, her father…or her friends.”

“Precisely,” the old enchantress grinned, finally opening her eyes. “I looked back and saw as much. Quite a good agreement you made there—such a vague promise makes us all the more powerful against her. In her impatience, Circe didn’t specify much in her end of the oath – and as such, Belle’s friends need not be limited to her friends at that time, but anyone she claims as a friend then, now, or in the future. I believe a simple declaration that every member of our forces is her ‘friend’ will protect them all.”

Adam’s eyes grew wide. “Really? That would work?”

“The words of spells are easily manipulated,” Agathe said. “So yes, I’m quite confident it will work.”

“Ultimately, Victor and his men can harm us, but Circe can _not_ ,” Gilles added. “So by redirecting their strength to her, our enemies’ total powers become null.”

Adam watched them, unblinking, chest slowly filling with awe. Maybe this plan really _was_ brilliant. “So…that’s why you let her go?” he asked.

Gilles nodded. “I admit, there was an opportunity to take Circe into custody when you both arrived, but we were concerned she would try to escape with you again before we had the chance. Getting you out was our first priority, my lord—and of course, once we realized she could help us defeat your uncle, it was decided. We had planned to remain near you in disguise for as long as it took for her to depart,” he went on. “Your father even returned to his prison in case she should come for him there, and given most of her prisoners were criminals, we managed to bribe them with more lenient sentences if they would return to their own cells at her return.”

 _So that’s why Gilles stayed behind earlier today,_ Adam thought, realizing the commander must have been dealing with the rest of these prisoners. There had been much more going on at that fortress than he’d realized.

“It was important she not be informed of our presence there,” Gilles explained. “It was a stroke of good luck she decided to check on your uncle so quickly. Though with word of Victor’s move spreading throughout the region, we figured she would hear the news soon enough herself if she followed her previous patterns in searching for more victims in the surrounding villages.”

“And now she is exactly where we want her to be,” Papa added with triumph. “And everything nearly in place to finally _end_ all this.”

Adam stared at the ground, breathing shallowly. So much had happened without him. “I’m sorry I haven’t been here to help,” he said, feeling a little disappointed. He’d always wanted to do right by his kingdom—and it turns out when the time finally came, he’d been lost in some strange jump through time.

“Don’t worry,” his father said. “Your time has come. In fact, we’ve been waiting for your help with our final task before we strike.” He sat up straighter, looking Adam square in the eye. “It is time to reveal ourselves to our people once again, son.”

Adam raised his brows in surprise. “Do you mean…”

“The staff has already begun spreading the news,” Maman explained. “Quietly, whispers of the truth behind our disappearance. Well, at least in part,” she admitted. “We decided just to spread the simple truth that Victor lied about your father’s death and yours, and took the kingdom for himself.”

“And right near destroyed it,” Papa added fiercely. He reached for Maman’s hand then, and turned back to Adam. “Now is time for us to announce our family’s return. To recruit our people to our aid and rid this kingdom of these evils for good.”

Adam breathed heavily for a moment. “But…won’t Circe find out?” he finally asked. “She can see anything. What if she sees what we’re doing, or…or tries to check on me?” The fear of such a possibility suddenly washed over him a like a cold wave.

“She probably has already,” Agathe shrugged, eyes closed again. She smiled to herself. “But I’ve put a nice little spell over that castle that will make every mirror in its vicinity show her nothing amiss. Should Circe attempt it, she will see nothing but a normal kingdom going about its very normal business, and you sitting in her fortress doing exactly as she commanded you.”

Adam sat, somewhat dumbfounded. They really _had_ thought of everything. He kept forgetting how long it had been, how much time they’d had to come up with all of this.

“Of course, we’ll want to move with some speed,” Gilles added. “Though we’ll need to wait at least a fortnight to give Circe time to weaken Victor’s army. Plus, Belle suggested we give you a brief interlude of freedom before returning to those woods once again.”

Adam nodded earnestly, turning back to Belle in gratitude. Even the thought of simply riding through the countryside he hadn’t seen in years sent his heart racing in excitement. And the idea of actually getting to meet the people who lived there was more than he could fathom.

“But let me tell you,” Papa said, reaching up and clenching one fist. “I can’t _wait_ to get my hands on Victor.”

“Nor I,” his mother added, narrowing her eyes.

“Maman?” Adam said in shock.

“He tried to hurt my baby,” she said. “Trust me, Victor is going to be _very_ sorry when he sees me again.” She paused. “Though, perhaps not so sorry as that wretch of an witch.”

Beside him, Belle grinned, leaning close. “Did I tell you how much I like your mother, yet?” she whispered.

Adam chuckled. Maybe Papa was right—this hadn’t ruined his bliss at all. In fact, he’d never felt so relieved. Of course there were still things to do, their enemies still at large. But for the first time since he was ten years old, he didn’t have to deal with all of this alone. No more facing the enchantress by himself, no more dodging her manipulations and tricks and being constantly torn from Belle at every turn. No, now nothing could take him from her—that wonderful bond between them should ensure that much. And not only that, he now had the full support of his parents, his freed household, and soon, hopefully, most of the kingdom. And best of all, he wasn’t even in charge anymore!

Adam sighed happily, staring into the flames and letting his shoulders relax. It was such an overwhelming relief.

He felt a heavy hand on his shoulder then, and suddenly Henri had stuck his head between him and Belle, grinning wide. “You two comin’?” he asked in earnest. “Everyone’s waiting!”

“Waiting?” Adam asked. “For what?”

“To start the dance!” Chip cried. He stood behind them, one arm in a crutch and the other around Sophie’s waist, who herself had an arm around the boy’s shoulder in support. “Mama said I can stay up and watch!” Chip said in earnest.

Adam glanced at Belle, who looked as surprised as him. “Oh, well,” she started, turning back to face them. “We don’t know any—”

“It’s easy!” Sophie said quickly, letting Henri hoist Chip up and onto his shoulders. She turned to Belle and Adam then, reaching down and pulling them both to their feet. “You’ll learn as you go. Now, come on!”

Taking Henri’s hand, they ran off with Chip in tow towards a large fire further down the beach. A large crowd had already gathered there, and the sounds of fiddles could be heard above the crashing waves. Adam looked over at Belle, uncertain. She shrugged, though her eyes seemed to dance in excitement.

So off they ran, down the beach, stepping into the new firelight and being immediately greeted by several dozen arms and rosy-cheeked smiles. In an instant they were forced to run beneath a long human tunnel, the cheers of the others and a chorus of claps ringing out in unison to the beat of the music. Beside Adam, Belle laughed, clinging to his elbow as they ducked beneath the arms above them and emerged victorious on the other side. The cheers only grew at that, and Adam wondered if it was even possible to smile wider, weaving his fingers through Belle’s as they raised their arms and joined the line.

They soon split off into groups, holding hands in large circles and taking turns partnering with those beside and across from them. Belle seemed freer than he’d ever seen her, kicking joyfully at the sand, hair falling loose of its ribbon as she spun among the floating embers. God, she looked so beautiful in the firelight. Beautiful, and alive, and here. Somehow, _here._

“What’s that?” Adam asked, now dancing with Belle to a tune meant for couples. He nodded towards the others. “On their skin.”

Several arms flew past, dotted with small patterns of flowers and leaves. “Oh…that was me,” Belle explained, looking sheepish. “I didn’t realize when I painted their plates it would stay that way.”

Adam smiled at the memory. “They don’t seem to mind.”

“Well, Agathe offered to remove them,” Belle explained, shrugging. “But I guess no one has asked her to, at least not yet. I think it had to do with…” She stopped suddenly, shaking her head. “Never mind.”

Adam looked back at the others. _It’s for Charlotte,_ he realized, sensing why Belle hadn’t wanted to tell him. The old sting came back, but the joy all around was so great it was held at bay.

“Oh!” he cried suddenly, realizing he’d stepped on Belle’s toes.

She only laughed, thankfully unhurt. “Look who’s the clumsy one _now,”_ she smirked, wrapping her arms even further around his shoulders.

“That is _entirely_ …um…” Adam trailed off, swallowing roughly. For Belle was very close now, and the fire had only grown dim as the night wore on. Her eyes watched him, still studying his face like they had all day, embers dancing in their hazel reflection. Adam’s gaze flicked down to her lips, dark and inviting in the firelight.

“E-entirely…unfair…” he finally whispered, though by now he’d completely forgotten what he was talking about. Or where they were, for that matter.

The tune picked up speed again, and he was quickly reminded of the crowded merriment all around them. Belle pulled back, glancing at her feet before staring back up at him. She bit her lip, but it wasn’t in the nervous way that she usually did. Adam’s fingers were still against her side, and he rubbed his thumb against the soft fabric at her waist, trying and failing to recall just how to breathe.

“Belle!” someone cried. Three women were at their side, the two who weren’t Sophie with tulips along their arms, reaching for Belle and motioning towards the fire.

“It’s the ladies’ dance,” Sophie said eagerly. “Prince Adam, you can let her go for one song, can’t you?”

Short on breath, Adam stuttered something incomprehensible—but it didn’t matter, for Belle was quickly whisked away regardless. He watched her go, swallowing hard and feeling very much like his entire body had caught fire.

 _Well,_ he thought to himself, _on the bright side, I suppose I’m not cold anymore—_

“Prince Adam?”

Adam started at the voice, turning to see who it was. “M-Monsieur Dupont!” he cried, voice higher than normal and quite significantly higher than it had ever been in the last decade.

Belle’s father laughed a little. “Sorry to startle you, my prince, I just thought I’d catch you while I could.”

Adam nodded, feeling a bit sheepish. It wasn’t like fathers could tell when you were thinking about kissing their daughters…right?

“Your Highness,” Maurice said. To Adam’s surprise, the man himself looked troubled, now staring at his feet. “I don’t know how to thank you,” he began. “For your generosity…and for caring for my daughter all those months.”

“Oh!” Adam said in surprise. He’d half expected Maurice to be upset Belle had been dragged into this whole mess in the first place. “It’s…it’s nothing…”

“And for saving _my_ life,” Maurice went on seriously. “I’m not sure why you’ve done so much for me, when all I did was attempt to steal from you.” He sighed. “I hope you can forgive this old man his foolishness.”

“Monsieur Dupont, I—”

“Please. Maurice.”

“Maurice,” Adam said. “It’s all right. I understand, and I—I couldn’t be more grateful you came. I mean, if you hadn’t, I wouldn’t know Belle, and all of us…in truth, we wouldn’t be free without you.” He stopped, and smiled. “And, well, I’m also grateful to you for having a really wonderful daughter.”

Maurice laughed at that. “She is, is she not? We’ll credit her mother for that though.” He paused, looking wistfully towards the dark shore. “I admit though…I worry. I am not blind to the differences in our circumstances. Should things go as planned, you will be our ruling prince once again, and Belle, as priceless as I believe her to be, still the daughter of a penniless farmer.” He looked back at Adam then, eyes full of a sternness that hadn’t been there before. “I fear for her heart, Prince Adam. I would not have it broken by false hopes.”

Adam’s eyes grew wide. “I…I would _never_ …” He stopped then, what nerves had been there before replaced with conviction. “Maurice,” he said seriously. “I _love_ Belle. I wish nothing but to be with her always…if she’d have me. I’d give up everything to make it so.”

Maurice studied him for a long, heart pounding moment. Then, seeming satisfied with whatever he’d been searching for, he smiled. “Well,” he said happily, returning to his earlier lightness. “You have my blessing, then. Not that Belle would let that stop her either way,” he chuckled.

“I—oh!” Adam stammered, realizing what had just transpired.

“I know you might not be ready _quite_ yet,” Maurice smiled. “What with all this witch business we’ve got to get about. But I figured I’d let you know anyhow.”

“Th-thank you,” Adam breathed, in no little shock. “Thank you! That…that means a lot.”

Maurice nodded warmly, reaching out to shake his hand. However, Adam—still unfamiliar with many human social cues—just wound up hugging him fiercely. Maurice grunted in surprise, though quickly chuckled, patting his back in return.

“You’re a good lad, Your Highness,” Maurice said, pulling back and gripping his shoulder warmly.

“Just—just Adam,” he said quickly.

Maurice hummed in amusement at that. “All right, Adam.” He glanced back at the shore, looking serious. “Will you go for her, or shall I?”

Adam frowned, following his gaze. He saw Max at first, running into the water and yapping at the waves. The mutt ran back then, circling around a figure who was walking the line between the wet and dry sand. She remained in the moonlight for just long enough for Adam to recognize her before disappearing into the darkness.

_Belle?_

* * *

“Belle?”

He’d followed her footprints here, her own shoes abandoned a ways behind. Adam held them now, setting them carefully in the sand and watching Belle where she stood. She’d been staring out at the water, arms folded across her chest, a paper, folded several ways, held in one shaky hand. She turned back now, revealing eyes as watery as the ocean behind her.

Adam gasped at the sight of her, stepping forward quickly. “Belle, what’s wrong?!”

She brushed her eyes roughly against her arm, shaking her head. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m just…I guess I’m suddenly feeling overwhelmed, that’s all.”

Adam nodded slowly; he could certainly understand that. “Did you…did you want me to leave?” he asked, certainly not wanting to, but anxious his presence might be too much for her right now. “I can go get your father, or Sophie, or—”

“No,” she gasped, eyes growing wide as she looked up at him. “No, don’t leave.”

He never needed more than that, closing the distance between them in an instant.

“Don’t leave,” she said again, even though he was already holding her. “N-not again…”

The words hit him hard. “You’re upset with me,” he said softly, even as the guilt flooded his chest.

“No!” she insisted, shaking her head hard. She grew quiet just a quickly, turning her head and looking towards the water again. Her shoulders sagged against him. “Well…not anymore.”

“But you were.”

Belle’s fingers gripped his shirt hard. She didn’t contradict him. “I was so lonely,” she whispered at last. “And I let it become anger at times. Anger…at you.”

Though it hurt to hear, Adam understood. He’d expected as much, after all. He glanced down, recognizing his own handwriting on the parchment she held in her hand. It was the letter he’d written her, now worn in her fingers, with the words he’d thought would be his last to her. Words he wrote knowing he was breaking her heart, but also hoping she’d find a new life and new love and learn to forget him.

“B-but it wasn’t your fault,” Belle went on quickly. “I just…I wish I could have been part of your decision. You left so suddenly, a-and I felt helpless, and so alone. Like…like you’d abandoned me, without even giving me a chance to stop it.” She stopped suddenly, and gasped. “I—I just can’t believe you expected us to—to run _away,_ and let you make that sacrifice all alone!”

She was crying again, gripping his shirt even harder and burying her face against him to hide quiet sobs.

“I’m sorry,” he rasped, heart aching, suddenly realizing how long he’d really been gone and what he’d left her behind to deal with. He hugged her tighter. “I’m so sorry, Belle.”

She shook her head. “No, you…you shouldn’t be sorry,” she choked out. “I don’t know what else you could have done. I’m just…I don’t know why I feel this way.”

Adam was quiet for a moment. “Actually…I do.”

She pulled back, looking up at him with wet eyes.

“I felt the same way towards my father when he let Circe take him,” he explained. He frowned deeply. “Looks like I wound up doing the same thing he did.”

Belle pursed her lips, looking back at the ground.

“I should have told you what happened that first night she appeared, instead of sending you away like I did,” he admitted quietly. “I was just…I was so afraid. She’d taken or hurt everyone I’d ever loved…I could barely think straight, I was so frightened she’d do the same to you. But because of me, everything spiraled out of control.” He closed his eyes, feeling ashamed, but went on. “We could have worked it out together. But instead, I tried to do it all myself…and that was wrong. I deserve your anger.”

Belle looked up quickly, shaking her head. “No you don’t,” she insisted. “You were brave, and so selfless! You saved us all with what you did. And…and everything _did_ work out for the best.” She paused. “But, well…how about instead of being afraid, we just trust each other from now on?”

Adam brightened at that. _“Yes,”_ he said earnestly. “We will. I promise.”

They hugged each other tight. It was such a wonderful feeling to be able to do so, without needing to worry he may accidentally break her. Belle felt so much more… _there_ now, her arms encasing him like they’d never been able to before. Still feminine but no longer delicate, her strength and presence were so much more obvious now. And he loved it.

“You know…” Adam said, a bit nervously. Maybe he should leave this alone, but it had been bothering him for so long he decided just to get it out now. “I actually thought you’d be mad at me about something else.”

Belle looked up, confused.

“I needed you to break the spell,” he explained, grimacing. “I was worried you’d feel…used, or something.”

“You tried to tell me though, but she wouldn’t let you,” Belle said plainly. “How could I be upset about that?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. I was just worried about it.”

For some reason, Belle looked amused. “You know, you worry too much,” she smiled. “Besides, the spell wouldn’t have broken if you didn’t _actually_ love me, right?”

He thought about that for a moment, then smiled himself. “I guess not.”

They heard a crash then, looking back to see a rather large wave heading straight for them. Belle gasped in surprise, and they both turned to run further up the shore just as the water licked their ankles. Noticing her skirt skimming the water’s surface, Adam picked it up on impulse as he caught up with her.

The wave raced up the shore behind them, slowing to a crawl before retreating back into the dark waters once again. Belle let out a breath of relief, laughing a little and looking back at him. The clouds had parted again, bathing her in pure moonlight, the wet sand all around shining like diamonds. And for the second time that night, Adam forgot where he was.

 _This is real,_ he had to remind himself, for right now Belle looked like a goddess from some surreal realm. He rubbed absently at the soft lace between his fingers, noticing two pretty ankles and the bottoms of two very beautiful calves sticking out from her skirts. And just as suddenly he remembered what he held.

“Here,” he said quietly, holding out the trail of her dress and looking away. He hadn’t meant to whisper it, but the word escaped softly nonetheless.

He felt Belle’s hand in his a moment later, and looked up. She didn’t take the offering, but pulled his hand around her waist and tucked herself against him.

His hand seemed to move on its own, sliding across that soft fabric and cupping her opposite side, the skirt slipping out of his fingers and tumbling into the sand. Neither noticed, however, for Adam’s other hand was buried in her hair in an instant, hers sliding up his chest and around his shoulders, hearts racing and breath hot against necks and cheeks and lips until there was no space left between them.

Unlike most young couples, until today the farmer’s daughter and her prince had talked much more than they’d touched. A deep basin had formed, empty and aching to be filled, and both felt more than happy to abandon words for now and fill that void with the kisses long denied them.

The tide crawled higher, gliding over two pairs of feet, soaking up the hem of a gown. Yet neither noticed.

Ever a surprise, it would be, to discover new ways to love and be loved. Yet in a warm and familiar way…it was ever just the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy holidays everyone :) Love you!


	25. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another strong T for parts of this chapter – if you have triggers, please see *** at the very bottom.

“Is everything to your satisfaction, Your Majesty?”

King Victor stood in the Hall of Arms, surveying the surroundings with thirsty eyes. The handsome beard of his youth now sat wiry and unkempt against his neck, itself now significantly less defined than it had been a decade before. Even the expensive clothes he wore couldn’t hide the man’s deterioration in health. Heavy bags sat beneath both eyes, skin greying and stomach hanging far over his belt from a decade of unrestrained food and drink—supported, or course, by the extortion of his people.

Ignoring Lumiere’s question, Victor paused before a large painting in the shadows. A depiction of Judas Iscariot, frozen forever in the moment of his treacherous kiss. Christ’s gaze was cast down, and he seemed almost to be staring at Victor amidst the betrayal.

The king glared at the painting, then looked away. “My brother’s wretched wife was far too fond of such…pious scenery,” he huffed, waving an irritated hand in the air. “Remove them all.”

Lumiere’s nostrils flared; luckily the king had his back to him at that moment. “Of course, my king,” he said through gritted teeth. Lumiere had been chosen for such a task given his innate ability to put on a show—but groveling at Victor’s feet for the past months was wearing even on his resilient nerves.

“The treasury next,” Victor ordered. Lumiere nodded, moving deeper into the hall as the king and a troop of men followed behind.

In the heart of the castle, Lumiere stopped before a set of thick double doors. Pulling a set of keys from his belt, he unlocked the entrance and pulled it open with no small effort. Not one man offered to help.

Huffing, Lumiere eventually managed to crack it open wide enough for Victor to enter. The king brushed past him in earnest, leaving his men to guard the hall.

“Light,” Victor ordered gruffly. Lumiere reached for the nearest candlestick. It shifted in his hand.

For he was not the only servant working from the inside.

Setting the living light on a desk, Lumiere took his keys once again and opened the heavy chests at Victor’s request. The man buried his hands in each one, emptying the carefully organized pouches and examining the coins in the dim light. 

“Satisfactory, I suppose,” he muttered. “Though not as much as I was expecting.”

“Taxes were lower under your brother’s rule,” Lumiere explained, with no little irritation. “And what coin came here did not stay long, for he put much of it back towards the aid of his people.”

Victor narrowed his eyes, looking back at him. “And what do you think of that, servant?” he asked darkly.

Lumiere felt a bead of sweat drip down his back, immediately realizing his mistake. He sucked in a breath. “I think he was a fool,” he lied, with all the conviction he could muster.

Victor watched him for a long moment. “Indeed,” he said quietly. He moved across the room, sweeping aside a neat stack of financial records and emptying another pouch of coins on the cleared surface. He spread the gold on beneath his palm, picking up one piece and examining it with interest. “Remind me,” he said, staring at the coin in his fingertips. “Why did you come to me?”

Lumiere swallowed. “It seems I’m not whole without a soul to wait upon, Your Majesty,” he replied, voice hollow in the shadows.

Victor finally looked up, and smirked. “Ah, yes. Your kind were truly born into this world to serve.”

Lumiere stared at the king’s neck—thick, splotched, just asking for two hands to wrap around it and squeeze. He grit his teeth hard.

Victor raised a brow, looking around the room. “Is something burning?”

Lumiere sniffed. Yes, something was indeed burning. And in that moment, he realized his head felt… _unusually_ warm. Reaching up quickly, he smothered the smoke, coughing nervously.

_You’ve got to pull yourself together!_

Victor was watching him with suspicion, but looked up when a loud _thump_ rang out from the hall. It was soon followed by two more. Sweeping past Lumiere, the king stepped back into the corridor. Lumiere heard him move but two paces, then stop. All was still.

 _So soon?_ Lumiere thought in surprise. With caution, he stepped back outside himself.

A dozen bodies spotted the floor, amid twice as many roses. Each fallen soldier stared ahead, unblinking, eyes glazed over as they sat limply against the walls and lay motionless along the old carpet. Victor stood in the midst of them, his own eyes fixed in a trance on a figure in the shadows.

A creature stood there, hunched over and hooded, sucking in a shallow, raspy breath. It took a slow step towards them, exhaling slowly. The sound rang like death off the cold walls. With another breath the stranger straightened, hood falling back to reveal the most ghastly sight Lumiere had ever seen.

A corpse from the castle cemetery would have been a more welcome sight. With another rough breath, the monster began to change—slowly, painfully, new skin filling in the gaps in its cheeks, hair growing from bald patches across its head.

 _Is this really her?_ Lumiere thought in horror. She continued to change, a bit at a time with each heavy breath, finally reaching a state where she appeared more alive than dead.

“King Victor,” Circe breathed at last. She ran her hands down her figure, changing the rags she wore into a deep, shimmering black gown. Sighing, she looked up with eyes of fire. “Thank you for such an abundant supply. You may step aside, now.”

* * *

Fur brushed her fingertips, her forehead. “Adam?” Belle said groggily. Cracking one eye open, she quickly realized her error.

“Oh, Max,” she blushed. It was an honest mistake, she supposed—for Adam in the form she’d long known him still filled her dreams, despite his new humanity.

Max was scratching at the tent door now, anxious to be let out. Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, Belle quickly dressed and threw on her boots before unfastening the canvas flap.

Max ran out quickly and took care of business as Belle slowly followed. It wasn’t quite dawn, the eastern hills just barely showing the light of the sun and the landscape grey and covered with dew. It was a cold morning for June, and she wrapped her arms around herself. Though it was memories from the night before that warmed her the most.

_They walked through the rows of tents, illuminated by nothing but quiet stars. Camp was still now, a happy kind of peace replacing the joyous celebration from earlier that evening._

_When they reached Belle’s tent they stopped, holding each other again, hearts still racing from their newfound intimacy._

_“Goodnight,” Adam whispered at last._

_“Goodnight.”_

_Despite the word, however, Adam didn’t pull away. Instead he played with her long hair, loose and tangled, the ribbon long since lost somewhere along the shore. “Did I tell you I like your hair this way?” he asked._

_“You’re changing the subject,” Belle smiled._

_He sighed and leaned down, resting his cheek against her head. “It’s just…I’m afraid if I go to bed, this is all going to end,” he admitted. He’d said it in mirth, though Belle thought she caught a bit of lingering fear in his voice._

_Belle wanted to assure him it wouldn’t. But the truth was, she felt some of the same fear herself._

_“Maybe…” she started. She pulled back, absently smoothing out the front of his shirt. “Maybe…you could sleep here tonight?” she asked. She smirked a little. “It wouldn’t be the first time.”_

_Adam’s eyes grew wide, scanning the empty space around them. “Well, that…that was different…” he said nervously._

_“Why?” Belle asked, feigning innocence._

_He looked back at her, and raised a brow. “You know why.” He glanced towards the tents further away, biting his lip. “It’s just…your father likes me right now, but I’m fairly certain if he finds me here I’m a dead man.”_

_“Well, all right,” Belle shrugged. She leaned up and kissed him on the cheek before pulling away. “Goodnight!”_

_“Oh, um…goodnight,” he said lamely, looking a little deflated as she ducked inside her tent._

_Belle paused inside. She only had to wait a few short moments before hearing the canvas flap open behind her._

_“Wait,” Adam whispered, pocking his head inside. “I…I changed my mind.”_

_Belle bit back a smile. “Give me a moment. I need to change into something dry.”_

_He nodded quickly. “I—I do too,” he said, before shutting the flap again. Belle heard his footfalls race off towards the other side of camp. Stifling a laugh, she pulled off her sea-soaked clothes and shimmied into a clean shift and night dress._

_She had just dimmed her lantern when she heard a quiet tap at the entrance. Pulling it open, she found Adam’s hand in the darkness and pulled him inside. Her cot was built for one, so instead they gathered together every blanket in the small space and buried themselves inside._

_Adam hummed deeply, running his fingertips over her head and through the tips of her hair, brushing against her back. “Temptress,” he whispered._

_Belle grinned, relaxing against his warmth. “It’s a special occasion.”_

_He hummed again. “It is.” His fingers found her shoulder then, tracing soft circles against her skin where her gown had slipped down. He breathed deeply, before reaching around and pulling her close._

_“Goodnight, Belle,” he breathed, planting a soft kiss to forehead. “I love you.”_

_“I love you too.”_

A horse’s nickering broke through the memory, bringing Belle back to the present. She looked towards their temporary corral just as a distant figure hopped over its fence. Smiling, she crossed the campsite on light feet.

Adam—finally donning his boots—stepped carefully towards a bright white mare, a saddle and stirrups under one arm and a heavy cloak over his shoulders. The horse barely acknowledged him as he approached.

“Olive,” he said slowly, setting the saddle aside and stepping close. “Hey, girl…it’s me.”

Olive’s ears perked up at his voice, finally turning her head and staring at him straight in the eyes.

“Hey,” he said again, brushing his fingers through her mane. “It’s me, Adam. I’m just…I’m different.”

Olive leaned closer then, sniffing his collar as he rubbed a hand over her coat like he always did. Olive’s ears perked up further, and suddenly she was nuzzling his neck, nearly knocking him over in her excitement. Adam laughed, wrapping both arms around her neck and hugging her tight.

Belle watched from a distance, smiling warmly and wishing she’d brought her sketchbook. Instead, she focused on creating a mental image of the scene for a later depiction.

“Want to go for a ride?” Adam asked Olive eagerly. She pressed a wet nose to his face and he laughed again, tugging off his cloak and throwing it over the gate before retrieving the equipment to saddle her up. A minute later, he stood motionless at her side, staring at the stirrup. Then, with some apprehension, he stepped into it and swung himself into the seat. He sat tall, sucking in a deep breath that filled his chest.

Belle now flushed for the hundredth time since his return. Goodness, how regal he looked!

The image was soon spoiled, however, for Adam immediately grabbed the reigns, squatted low, and urged Olive towards the nearest field. Ignoring the closed corral, they jumped the fence and took off like lightning through the tall grass. Halfway across the field, Adam’s loud hoot of joy was carried back on the wind.

Belle herself laughed now. She’d never seen him like this, and how fun it was!

Approaching the corral, she retrieved his cloak and pulled it around herself. She pressed her nose to the fabric, breathing in his smell. Strange how it hadn’t changed much from what it was before.

He must have caught sight of her, for just a few minutes passed before he guided Olive up behind the gate and was jumping out of the saddle.

“Belle!” he said excitedly, landing on clumsy feet and throwing his arms around her, pinning the wooden fence between them. His heart was racing with the thrill of the ride, breath warm against her cheeks. “Good morning,” he mumbled, kissing her cheek quickly before attempting to climb the gate without fully releasing her.

Belle chuckled at him. “Good morning,” she said happily, glad when he finally made it over and encased her in his full warmth. “When did you get up?”

“About an hour ago,” he said. “Sorry, you looked so content that I didn’t want to wake you.”

Belle smiled. “You must have slept well. I noticed you don’t snore anymore,” she teased.

“You still do,” he said, not missing a beat.

“What?!”

He chuckled. “Just a little. It’s cute.” He noticed his cloak around her then, and leaned close. “Always stealing my clothes,” he breathed in her ear, one finger playing with the cloak’s tassel and briefly brushing the skin of her throat in the process.

“Finders keepers,” she whispered back, letting that pleasant, still-new feeling rush through her as he drew close.

“Well, Your Highness, I must say everything is going just swimmingly.”

Adam froze right before their lips met, eyes growing wide. He looked quickly over her shoulder, and Belle followed his gaze. There stood Cogsworth, a small paper pad in one palm as he jotted several notes on its surface.

“We’ll be starting for Preuseville just after breakfast, my lord.”

“Cogsworth,” Adam deadpanned.

“But Madame Agathe expressed a desire to check you over before we depart,” Cogsworth went on. “So if you’d just come with me, I can escort you to—”

 _“Cogsworth,”_ Adam said again, cutting him off.

The man finally looked up. “Yes, my prince?”

Adam sucked in a breath, barely concealing his annoyance. “Cogsworth. I’ve been waiting to kiss this woman for _months—”_

“Oh, Adam!” Belle whispered.

“—so do you think this could possibly wait five minutes?”

Cogsworth looked at them straight on, as if only now becoming aware of what he’d interrupted. “Oh, oh my,” he said in concern. “How could I have neglected something so important?” 

“Huh?” Adam said in confusion.

Cogsworth raised a finger. “You two need a chaperone.”

“A…a _what?”_

“We don’t want any new little princes—or princesses, of course—running around before their time, my lord,” Cogsworth explained matter-of-factly.

“C-C-C—” Adam sputtered, flushing furiously. _“Cogsworth!”_

“Yes, yes…I must go make the arrangements. I’ll be but a moment, Your Highness.” The man headed off at that, unaware he’d said anything amiss.

Adam, still bright as a roaring furnace, stared pointedly at the ground. Then, slowly, he glanced back at Belle. They looked at each other for a long moment, then started into timid chuckles.

“That was embarrassing,” Adam admitted.

Belle giggled again, hugging his waist. Adam’s fingers traced absent circles over her back in return, though he was now staring out towards a group of trees at the base of the nearest hill. Belle followed his gaze, then looked up at him.

He watched the point for another long moment, then met her eyes. “What do you say we run away?” he whispered.

Belle grinned, recognizing the teasing gleam in his eyes. She nodded.

* * *

Gilles smiled to himself, hidden in the shadow of a large tent near the edge of camp. He was the first to chaperone the two, as Cogsworth put it, but what his old friend didn’t know was that Gilles already had a constant tab on their location.

For he was not going to allow their young prince to be lost again.

He reached up, turning one of his small, golden earrings between two fingers. A nervous habit. Sucking in a breath, he tugged a spy glass from his belt and pulled it open. Through the glass he could just see Olive grazing at the tree line, a motion of two figures disappearing into the canopy’s shadows. He chuckled, closing the tool again and sliding it into his belt. If the young people wanted to be alone, they would find a way. Young love was tender that way, and not even Cogsworth could do much to stop it.

Smiling a little wistfully, Gilles reached a hand into his shirt and pulled forth a locket, hanging on a silver chain. It was round, and old, its ornamentation long since faded. He glanced around and, finding himself alone, flicked it open.

A lock of bright red hair sat inside, encased in dim glass. And though he’d looked at it a thousand times, the sight still made his throat grow tight.

* * *

_“What the **hell** is wrong with you?”_

_Gilles stood tall and alert – knowing anything less would only anger the man more. Yet he couldn’t quite find the courage to meet his father’s eyes._

_“We host the Barreau family for six weeks and you can’t muster up the courage to ask for Lady Marianne’s hand?!”_

_Gilles swallowed. “Father, I just…I didn’t feel it a good match.”_

_“It was a perfectly good match,” his father snarled. “And so were the last **four** young women you’ve managed to offend through your indifference. What’s it going to take, mm?” he huffed._

_Gilles’ heart was thundering in his chest. “I just…I’m not…” He clenched his fists to hide their trembling, and took a breath. “Father…I’m just not sure I **want** to get married.”_

_As soon as the words came out, he flinched. An old habit. No blow had come for some years now, but he’d expected his father to at least yell at him, maybe throw something off the desk. But the man merely grew stone silent. Somehow, that was worse. Gilles just stared at the floor, too afraid to look up._

_“You don’t… **want** …to get married,” his father finally said. His voice was low, anger boiling just beneath the surface. “And I suppose you don’t ‘want’ to inherit this estate either, mm?”_

_“Let Cecile inherit.”_

_“You know as well as I that’s impossible,” his father growled. He leaned back in his chair, and scoffed. “Damn shame she wasn’t born a man. Girl’s more of one than you’ve ever been.”_

_Gilles grit his teeth, eyes burning, hating himself even more than normal._

_“A man fulfills his **duty,”** his father went on, eyes dark. “Does that word mean nothing to you?”_

_Gilles head shot up at that. “It means everything to me!” he cried._

_Standing from his seat, the man stared at Gilles with cold, unloving eyes. “Then you will fulfill your duty to this family.”_

_Gilles eyes grew wide, and he stepped back. He had been honest in his declaration, for duty had run through his veins since birth. Tending to a bedridden mother, quietly overseeing the care and payment of their staff, attending to the needs of the surrounding villages—all the things the aging count before him had neglected for drink and leisure._

_But this kind of duty… He swallowed._ I can’t, _he thought desperately._ Not this.

_His father scoffed at his silence, sitting again and looking away. “You’re a fool, and a disgrace. Get out of my sight.”_

_Gilles wanted to say something, do anything besides stand there like the coward he was. Instead, he just bowed his head in submission and stepped into the hall._

_His feet took him to the courtyard, urging him towards the adjacent recreation building and armory. He often came here when he felt alone, for it was the only place that brought him relief._

_Though it wasn’t the place itself that offered the cure._

_The room was wide and open, pleasant light cascading through the windows and glinting off a hundred silver swords. In the center of the room, two visiting nobles were decked in white garb from head to toe, heads shielded by mesh-faced helmets as they spared with vigor. In the corner stood a servant, two spare swords in hand and watching the match with interest._

_It was this man who looked over upon Gilles’ entry. He was young, like him, but in every other way his opposite. Shorter and broader in stature, with a head of fiery red hair that seemed a physical manifestation of his open, spirited nature—nothing like Gilles, who was prone to keeping each emotion carefully in check. Yes, quite his opposite._

_And they were the best of friends._

_“Gil—” the young man called out, but quickly stopped, coughing and looking towards the visiting nobles. They hadn’t noticed his slip, too engaged in their increasingly violent spar. “Er, Lord Gilles,” he corrected as Gilles drew near. Jean only used a title when others were around—it was always strange when he did, and they typically joked about it later._

_“How’s this one been?” Gilles asked, nodding towards the pair across the room._

_Jean rolled his eyes. “They’re awful,” he droned, immediately losing the formality now that they could talk in confidence. He leaned into Gilles so he could whisper. “Though I’m certain each thinks himself as skilled as King Arthur himself.”_

_Usually Gilles would have laughed, but at the moment he couldn’t even muster a smile. In all truth, seeing the lingering visitors merely reminded him of his failure with Lady Marianne._

_“Well…how about it?” Jean prodded, nudging him playfully in the side. “Would you like to go a round? Show these amateurs a thing or two?”_

_Finally, the smile came. “Yes. Let’s.”_

_The two young men were well matched in skill—it was only because Gilles had the advantage of height and light-footedness that he won nearly every match against his friend. And the exercise usually did him good, for it was easy to focus on his form and the way his body felt moving with speed and precision. But today, Gilles couldn’t find that focus. Instead, his father’s harsh words and his own shame crept back slowly, tangling themselves deeply in his chest and allowing Jean to assume the victory._

_“First time I’ve bested you in six months,” Jean panted, tugging off his helmet as they entered the dressing rooms. “You sure you weren’t just going easy on me?”_

_Gilles didn’t hear him. He leaned against the wall, sword hanging limply in one hand, face hidden beneath the mask he didn’t bother to remove._

_Jean paused halfway through unbuttoning his jacket, looking back at him in confusion. “Gilles? Are you all right?”_

_Gilles remained quiet. He wanted so badly to pretend he was fine, but it was taking everything he had just to keep back foolish tears._

_“I can’t imagine you’re **that** sore of a loser,” Jean teased, though it was clear he was straining to keep his voice upbeat as he moved over with caution._

_“No,” Gilles muttered. “It isn’t that.”_

_Jean was beside him then. He took the sword from Gilles’ hand, set it aside, and placed a large, warm hand on his arm. He no longer hid his concern. “He got mad again, didn’t he?”_

_Gilles just shrugged, ducking his head._

_“Are you hurt?” he asked nervously. “Did he—”_

_“No. He knows I’m stronger than him now.”_

_Jean sighed in relief, and let his hand fall away. “What happened?”_

_Sighing himself, Gilles turned his back to him, tearing off his own helmet and wrestling with the large buttons of his jacket. “I’m a failure,” he said flatly. “A disgrace to him, and to my family.”_

_“…What?” Jean breathed shock. “How could you think that? You’re—you’re incredible! You’re the greatest swordsman in the province—no question—plus you see to this entire estate **and** the surrounding villages. I mean, you practically do your old man’s job for him.”_

_“None of that matters,” Gilles replied hollowly. “None of it. Not if I can’t produce…” He trailed off, staring at his feet. He sucked in a breath, and squeezed his eyes shut._

_He heard Jean move a pace closer, but stop. “Gilles—”_

_“He’s upset I didn’t propose to Lady Marianne,” he said at last, turning back. “That’s why he was angry."_

_Jean was quiet for a long moment. “Oh,” he whispered. Both looked away._

_Dusk had begun to creep into the room, its long shadowy fingers bathing them in darkness. A carriage could be heard rolling down the nearest rode. The sound permeated the silent air, then vanished back into the night._

_“She was a good woman,” Gilles admitted at last. “A really good woman, actually. Perhaps…perhaps I **should** have married her.”_

_“Why didn’t you?”_

_He’d said it so suddenly, Gilles couldn’t help but look up. Jean was watching him, eyes wide and anxious in the dim room, pulsing with a vulnerability he’d never seen in them before._

_Gilles knew then—knew why he didn’t marry Lady Marianne. Why he didn’t marry any of them._

_In truth, he’d known for a long time now, but had buried the truth in a place he hoped would never be discovered, even by himself. Buried the truth that each women his father placed in his path only filled him with dread. Buried the truth that when he lay in bed at night and closed his eyes, all he saw was that bright red hair and encouraging smile._

_But the way Jean was watching him now…maybe he didn’t need to hide it anymore. Maybe he wasn’t so alone after all._

_His feet pulled him forward, nearly closing the distance between them. Strange how the insecurity in Jean’s eyes gave him courage. Gilles never been the brave one. In fact, a small part of his mind screamed in panic, but the rest ignored it as he leaned closer._

_Their lips brushed. Barely a kiss, but it was all Gilles could muster before the nerves tumbled over him and he turned away. Yet Jean didn’t let him go far, for warm hands found his face and pulled him back in._

_The warmth seemed to flow from Jean’s touch, from his lips, filling Gilles’ heart like nothing ever had before. Filling the emptiness inside and washing away the senseless guilt he’d let settle there._

_They pulled back. The room was growing darker by the minute, but not so dark Gilles couldn’t see how Jean’s cheeks were beginning to match the hue of his hair. “I thought it was just me,” Jean whispered, a strange kind of awe in his voice._

_“You were sorely mistaken.”_

_Jean blinked once—then laughed, hugging him tightly. Gilles returned the embrace, smiling wide and forgetting all about his father and his shame and even, for the first time, that suffocating, every-present call to duty._

Gilles sighed roughly, closing the locket with a snap and tucking it back in his shirt. No use dwelling on the past. It was time to focus on those who needed him now—a young couple hidden in the trees, finally together but still so far from being truly safe.

He narrowed his eyes, heart burning. They would not be torn apart, not again, not in the way he knew all too well. He’d make sure of it.

* * *

It was such a simple gesture. Simple, and sweet. And Belle couldn’t fathom how it was possibly making her feel the things she was feeling.

Adam kissed the tip of her thumb—the last of five fingers he’d done the very same to, pausing and looking at her from the shadows that fell from the canopy above. The palm of her free hand pressed against the thick oak trunk behind her, leaning into it, hoping with a silent stare he’d come even closer.

He did.

Belle should have expected it. Adam exuded an abundance of devotion in everything he did and enough love to cover a family, a household, and an entire kingdom. Yet for some reason, she hadn’t anticipated just how the love he held for her alone could manifest itself as _passion._

He was kissing the inside of her wrist now. Belle closed her eyes, simply enjoying the feeling, still thoroughly overcome by their new closeness. She recalled their ride to this small grove of trees—his arms reaching around her for the reigns, thighs squeezing hers as he gave Olive a kick. The way his fingers brushed her neck as he pulled her hair aside and kissed her cheek from behind.

It was new. So new to be able to be with him like this—to have a man, a _human_ man so close to her. Her heart began to race at the thought.

 _Adam,_ she reminded herself. _It’s still Adam._

His lips brushed her ear. “I love you,” he said softly. Still his voice, but now his words were followed by a tender kiss against her ear, her jaw, the corner of her mouth. Belle’s own words wouldn’t come, and she could manage nothing but a shallow breath before their lips met again. 

She let the oak behind her steady her, his warm arms about her waist keep her upright, finally realizing the expression _weak knees_ was much more literal than she’d once thought.

“A-Adam,” she managed at last.

He pulled back immediately. “Yes?”

“Are you…” She stopped, looking away with unusual shyness before glancing back at him. “…Are you sure you haven’t done this before?” she finally whispered.

Adam blinked, then—utterly destroying the mood—he snorted. “When in the world would I have done this before? When I was _ten?”_

“I don’t know!” Belle laughed.

He was beaming, and Belle could see the pride in his eyes even through his amusement. Well, he deserved to be proud about it. He really was _quite_ a good kisser.

“Perhaps you’re just a natural,” she smirked, deciding to feed that pride a bit more.

Against his will, the corner of Adam’s mouth plucked up further at that. Leaning back down, he wrapped his arms tight around her waist and hummed deeply.

Except, this was no hum. It was a full-out, rasping _growl_ —one which, to the shock of them both, vibrated from deep within his chest and off the surrounding trees.

Adam pulled back immediately, eyes growing wide. “I…that…th-that wasn’t…” He stopped, coughed into his fist, then pressed two fingers up against his throat. “I-I don’t know how…”

He trailed off again, finally catching her eye. “Wait a second,” he said slowly, an amused but bewildered smile beginning to creep back over his face. “You…you _liked_ that, didn’t you?”

Belle reached up to feel her cheeks. Sure enough, they were hot beneath her fingers. She grimaced. “N-no I—no I didn’t!”

“Yes you did!” he cried, now roaring with laughter.

“I—I didn’t—oh!” Belle exclaimed in utter defeat, flushing and burying her face in her hands.

Adam still held her in warm arms, though his body continued to shake in amusement. It was a long minute before he could finally speak.

“First…first the beard…”

“Adam!”

He chuckled some more, then finally sighed. “Be honest—did you like me better the other way?”

 _“No—”_ she said in defiance, then stopped, growing somber. “I mean…It’s just, well, sometimes there’s moments when it’s harder to reconcile that you’re, you know…still you.”

Adam hummed, pursing his lips as he thought. Then, to Belle’s surprise, he grinned. “Perhaps I’m not,” he said mischievously.

Belle frowned. “What?”

He leaned to whisper in her ear once again. “We best not let the Beast find out about this. He wouldn’t be very happy.”

“Oh Adam!” Belle cried. “That is _not_ funny!”

He only snickered, growling again and hugging her tight. Belle tried in earnest to reprimand him, but it was difficult to do so through her own laughter. 

“Well, one thing’s for certain,” she finally managed, pulling back and raising a brow. “It really is still you. I’ve never met a bigger tease in all my life.”

“I’m telling you. You started it with all those awful nicknames.”

“I thought they were clever.”

Adam’s expression finally softened. “Belle…I have to know. What were you…” He paused. “What were you _thinking?”_

“Hmm?”

“I mean, about me,” he said, looking away. “About…us, before you knew I could change back.”

Belle, realizing just what he meant, looked away herself. “Well I…I knew we couldn’t leave, since you were trapped there. A-and I supposed we’d have to, um, decide together what we’d want to… ” She stopped, wringing her hands together in the fabric at her waist. “I mean, I thought perhaps if we ever…you know…if we wanted to, um… Th-there’s an orphanage in Saint Amand, we could have…”

Adam watched her as she fell quiet again. He looked stunned. “You thought about that?”

Belle flushed, embarrassed, realizing the territory they’d crossed into with this conversation. Not just the topic of physicality, but the implication of marriage that lingered just beneath her words. Of course, they’d freed both him and a hundred others with their declaration of love—with a silver cord between their chests as proof—but their lives beyond the present was still a topic neither had breached.

 _No. He did,_ Belle remembered, thinking back to the words of a letter she’d read each day while he was gone.

_“I admit I imagined spending a life with you…”_

Belle looked up at him again, his eyes the same as the day she’d first made note of them. It really was him, the Adam she’d known. There was no need to hesitate, was there?

He spoke first. “Belle…I would never have let things go so far if I didn’t think I would be human again. I couldn’t resign you to a fate with a monster.”

Belle’s heart sank a little. “Don’t say that,” she whispered.

“It’s true, though,” he said seriously. “You deserve someone who can give you everything, not just…part.” He looked at his feet. “I’m just really glad that, maybe…that someone can be me now.”

Belle only stared at him. Did he still not understand? “Adam,” she said quietly. “You were always going to be that someone.”

He looked up, uncertain.

She swallowed, reaching around him and gathering the fabric of his shirt between her fingers. “I just wanted you back,” she whispered. “I didn’t care how.”

Adam breathed shallowly for a moment, then hugged her back tight. “You’re the best,” he said happily.

“I am _not,”_ Belle said, pulling away and beginning to count on her fingers. “I’m stubborn, and impatient, and horribly defiant, and—”

“No. You have, by far, the most beautiful heart in the whole world,” he insisted. “That makes you the _best.”_

Belle shook her head at him, but smiled all the same.

“Besides, I _like_ that you’re defiant,” he went on. He smirked. “Like when you insisted on helping me bind up all that wheat—and we both got drenched from the storm.”

Belle bit her lip, and giggled. “I’d nearly forgotten about that.”

“Or demanding you help me with the index…and then making me reorganize the _romance_ novels—”

“Oh, you didn’t mind.”

“—or wandering around the palace alone even though we lost you about a dozen times—”

Belle nudged him playfully. “Come on,” she said. “We should go back. I don’t want the others to worry.”

They ran back the way they’d come, emerging from the small grove’s dark cover and finding Olive still munching happily on the grass. Helping Belle into the saddle, Adam paused with his hand on the leather horn. “So…what if I had been turned into something different?” he asked curiously. “Like a frog?”

Belle laughed. “Now that’s just _silly.”_

“No it isn’t!” he insisted. He raised a finger. “There’s a book about it in the library.”

* * *

Adam huffed some of the hair from his face. Ironically, he felt more like a strange creature on display right now than when he was eight-feet tall and covered in fur.

Two old, wrinkled hands moved up his chest, the two he _wished_ they were sat motionless in the lap beside him as Belle watched Agathe work with nervous eyes. The old woman was currently prodding Adam all over as he lay on a mat in one of the smaller tents, wearing nothing but his breeches rolled up past his knees while Docteur Mathius and both his parents sat close by. He stared at the ceiling, bashful to be in such a state of undress with so many prying eyes. But those caring for him seemed far too concerned with his health to pay much attention to his dignity at the moment.

Agathe’s hand passed over his stomach, his heart, then paused at his throat. “Oh, ho ho! Well _that’s_ interesting.”

“What?” Adam asked nervously.

“Looks as though your vocal chords aren’t quite back to normal.”

Adam and Belle exchanged a look. “Oh, um…that _is_ interesting,” he replied. Belle hid a knowing smile behind her hand.

Agathe continued down his arms next. “Ah. You know, you’ve actually gained a bit of an advantage from this whole business.”

“I have? What?”

“Your bones,” she explained, lifting his forearm and squinting at it curiously. “As you changed back, they broke, reformed, and broke again, reshaping into their present structure—”

Belle and his mother both gasped in unison. Adam only sighed. “That explains a lot,” he muttered. In a way, he was almost grateful to Circe for sending him ahead in time—he couldn’t imagine having to go through all that for months. Though of course, it would have been nice to avoid the curse in the first place.

Jacqueline was not so easily placated. “Oh, my poor baby,” she said, looking near tears as she swept back the hair from his eyes.

“Maman, I’m fine!” Adam said in earnest. He glanced over at Belle, who was squeezing his hand tight amid a horrified expression of her own. “Belle—Belle, it’s all right, really,” he insisted. “I mean, when I got shot in the leg it hurt for a lot longer, so—”

“You were shot in the leg?!” Jacqueline cried.

Adam cringed, forgetting Maman hadn’t heard that one yet. “No…okay yes, but—”

“Hush now, I haven’t gotten to the best part!” Agathe demanded. They fell silent, looking back at her at once. She cleared her throat. “As the bones reformed, they also _condensed,”_ she explained. “Instead of reabsorbing the bone, it seems your body used most of it to create your new skeleton. Which means these bones are dense. Nearly unbreakable, in fact.”

Docteur Mathius leaned in, holding a monocle up to one eye. “Remarkable,” he observed.

His father moved closer as well, a hand to his chin. “Indeed. That could certainly come in handy, son.”

Agathe nodded. “Yes, yes. In fact, he could probably take a pretty nasty fall and still survive.”

“Well, let’s not encourage that please,” Jacqueline said in earnest.

His mother’s concern was not unwarranted—for at this revelation, Adam had almost immediately wondered if he could still get away with jumping over the western balcony. Pondering the prospect, he held out one arm and flexed it in assessment.

“She said your bones, not your muscles,” Belle whispered, poking him in the stomach and causing him to recoil. For some reason, though, she looked flushed.

“Well, everything seems fine for now, but I’d like to continue checking you over for the next few weeks," Agathe said, pulling away and washing her hands in a nearby basin. "Circe may be a talented sorceress, but she’s inexperienced. It’s uncertain if she performed the spell with full care.”

 _Great,_ Adam thought to himself.

“Otherwise, do you have any concerns?” Agathe asked.

Adam started to shake his head, then stopped. “Actually...there is one thing.” He sat up, glancing behind him. “I, um, still feel it.”

“Hmm?” Agathe asked.

“My tail…” he said, scratching the back of his head a little sheepishly even as he went on. “I could swear it’s still there, but every time I check, of course…it isn’t.”

“Ah, the phantom limb,” Docteur Mathius observed, nodding to himself. “Quite common when men lose arms and legs in battle.”

“It’s just…it _itches,”_ Adam admitted, resisting the urge to reach back and scratch at the empty air.

“The sensation will go away with time,” Agathe explained. “Nothing we can to do about it now.”

Adam nodded. “Thank you, Agathe. For everything.”

“It’s Nai Nai, child!” she exclaimed. Then she smiled. “And you’re welcome.” She paused, looking like she wanted to say more, but simply sighed and pushed herself to her feet. Belle helped her up, walking her to the door.

Adam rolled his pants back down roughly before grabbing his shirt. Something crinkled in his fingers then, and he remembered. “Belle?” he called out.

She turned back, looking curious. Agathe patted her arm and moved through the entrance without her, followed by the others.

“Is everything all right?” Belle asked.

He quickly pulled on his shirt, head popping out the top before he tugged something from his pocket and moved beside her. “I need your help,” he said. “My parents plan to do most of the big speeches everywhere we go, but, um…they wanted me to say something too.” He stopped, handing her the parchment. “Could you make sure it’s okay?”

“Oh, of course!” Belle said. She took the sheet willingly and began to read.

Ten seconds passed in silence, then another. Adam cringed. “It’s awful, isn’t it?” he asked.

Belle looked up, as if broken from a reverie. “What? Oh no, it’s—”

“I probably went a little overboard on the ending,” he said quickly.

“Adam—”

“And maybe I shouldn’t have—”

 _“Adam,”_ Belle said firmly, stopping him with a hand to his arm. “This is really wonderful. I’ve rarely read such a heartfelt speech!”

He blinked. “Really?”

“Mmhmm,” she hummed, looking back down. “Here, I think we just need to use simpler language in a few places, since your audience will be mostly uneducated. But other than that I say keep it just as it is.”

Adam nodded. “Okay.” He watched her move towards a nearby desk, grabbing a quill and making a couple revisions. He followed slowly. “Th-thank you,” he said belatedly.

Belle chuckled. “Of course.” She looked up then, and frowned. “Are you all right?”

He sighed, looking away. “I don’t know. I’m _really_ nervous all of a sudden,” he admitted. “I haven’t…I haven’t been around people in so long. I mean, people I don’t know...people my age, b-besides you. Even when I was a child I rarely left the castle.” He looked up then. “What if I make a bad impression? Or do something wrong, or offend someone, or—oh God, what if because of me everyone hates us and won’t help and—”

“Adam,” Belle said in earnest, squeezing his arm again. “Stop worrying so much! You’re going to be just fine. You’re a very likable person, you know,” she smiled.

He just shrugged.

“And,” she added. “…Perhaps you’ll make some new friends.”

Adam perked up; he hadn’t considered that. He smiled at the thought.

“Yeah…maybe I will.”

* * *

Despite his nerves, the ride towards their first destination was a thrill. Adam—to his guards’ dismay—frequently urged Olive into a sprint away from their party for a better view of the countryside, gallivanting up rocky cliffs and through shallow streams. Everything was so open! Apple orchards and rows of lavender and sunflowers stretched on for miles, the sky a wide open bowl of blues and whites.

He sucked in a breath of sweet air, and smiled. It really did feel good to be free.

“Preuseville is just ahead, Your Highness,” Gilles noted, a subtle attempt to discourage him from breaking away from the group yet again.

Belle rode to Adam’s right, grinning to herself. No doubt she caught Gilles’ intention as well. She glanced at the approaching town, then over at him. “How are you feeling?” she asked quietly.

His nerves were back now, though the excitement didn’t fade completely. He just shrugged.

“I haven’t been here in twenty years,” Gilles said, humming to himself. “A beautiful town, from what I recall, and…” He trailed off, slowing his own horse as they approached the main road. Gilles stared at what was before them, eyes growing wide. “Oh, God in heaven,” he rasped.

Adam followed his gaze, and suddenly his nervous excitement was gone. Gone, and replaced by horror.

Dilapidated homes, roofs sinking in. A stinking ditch through the street’s center, overflowing with what Adam could only hope was mud. A few skinny children ran along its bank, one or two adults trudging close by. But the mass of them sat along the abandoned storefronts and alleyways, some coughing fiercely, others staring ahead as though on the precipice of death.

Their party had stopped, each slowly dismounting their rides and staring at the scene before them. Adam’s heart seemed to still; his mouth growing dry. “How can we ask these people to fight?” he asked hollowly. “They’re sick, and starving. Living in their own…” He couldn’t continue, swallowing back the bile in his throat.

“Preuseville used to be quite prosperous,” Cogsworth said, his own eyes wide in shock. ”What happened?”

Adam’s father moved beside them, narrowing his eyes. “Victor happened,” he said darkly.

“Be careful, mademoiselle!”

Adam whipped his head back at the call. Across the road Belle sat crouched in the muddy street, unscrewing the cap of her water canteen with frantic fingers and lifting it to a woman’s lips. The woman was propped against a wall, skin was pale and grey, barely responding to the offering. A child watched numbly, small fingers resting on the woman’s arm.

“Mademoiselle,” one of the guards said again, approaching Belle with caution. “Please, you could get sick…”

“Agathe!” Belle cried out, ignoring him. “Someone find her, _please!”_

Adam had taken but a step towards her when he felt a tugging on his jacket. Looking down, he saw a boy staring up at him with hollow, empty eyes. He seemed around Chip’s age, yet couldn’t have been half his weight.

“Spare a coin, m’lord?”

Throat growing tight, Adam turned around, dug into his saddle bag, and pulled out a handful of gold. The boy watched him place it in his outstretched hands with wide eyes. He stared at the gift for a long moment, then looked back up at him. “Who are you?” he asked in amazement.

“I’m…” Adam started. He swallowed. “I’m Prince Adam.”

“A prince?”

Adam nodded slowly. “I was…locked away, for a long time. But we’re going to make things better now.”

The once dead look in the boy’s eyes was gone, replaced by an eager brightness. And with it, a smile. Without another word, he raced away, soon surrounded by a dozen other children whom he willingly offered a part of his new fortune. Each stared at their new coin, crying out with excitement and turning to look back at their new prince. Not one looked like they’d eaten a full meal in months.

Adam sucked in a shaky breath, and turned around in desperation. “Cogsworth,” he said in earnest. “We have to—they need—we need to feed them,” he said frantically.

Cogsworth frowned, looking across the street. He seemed troubled. “We’re here to recruit, Your Highness. I suggest we move on for now, see if we don’t have better success elsewhere.”

Adam stared at him. “How…how can you say that?” he asked in shock. “How can we just abandon them like this?”

“My lord, our provisions are not infinite,” Cogsworth said carefully. “Circumstances being what they are, we really can’t afford to—”

“Damn it, Cogsworth!” Adam cried. “We can skip a few dinners, just get them something to eat!”

Cogsworth fell silent. He sighed, bowed shallowly, and left to obey.

Adam felt a hand on his shoulder, turning quickly to see his father looking at him with concern. “Don’t be too hard on old Cogsworth,” he told Adam quietly. “He’s doing his best to keep this mission afloat. And in truth, we can’t do much to help these people until we have control of this kingdom once again.”

Adam’s shoulders sagged, looking back where Cogsworth had left and feeling a sting of regret for his harshness. “I guess,” he admitted. “I just…I can’t bear to just leave here without doing anything to help.”

“We’ll do what we can today,” Alexandre agreed. “And when this is all over, we’ll be able to do much more.”

Adam nodded, looking back at the people of Preuseville. All his regrets and fears, staring him in the face. All those years trapped at the palace, knowing he should be serving his people and fearing what was happening to them. And now he saw it with his own eyes, and it was worse than he’d imagined.

How many had starved, fallen to disease and death during his years away?

He looked back at Belle, at the hungry child at her side and the sick mother in her arms. And suddenly he saw Belle as she’d been on the first day they’d met, arms thin and cheeks hollow. He recalled the sight of her mother through Agathe’s mirror, sick and dying. Gone, because this kingdom had fallen into ruin.

Gone, because Victor had abused his power and allowed his people to wallow in sickness and starvation.

Gone, because Circe had interfered and given him that power in the first place.

Adam was clenching his fists, finally making the connection. _Circe killed Belle’s mother. Circe killed them all._ And suddenly, he was no longer nervous.

He was furious.

He looked down at his claws. _No, fingers now,_ he remembered, frowning.

It seemed he’d need an upgrade.

* * *

At the edge of camp stood one of the largest tents. Within, pandemonium; pounding of metal on metal, shouts for another order, flames bursting into life from three separate pits.

A few days had passed since Preuseville. And while the other towns held their own share of struggles, a surprising number of citizens had already stepped up to King Alexandre’s cause. Most of these volunteers, however, came without their own means to fight, necessitating the temporary smithy.

Adam now stepped inside with some apprehension, eyes searching the space bustling with men of all sizes, and even a few women, none of whom seemed to notice he was there. Finally, his eyes caught a familiar face. A boy, sitting in the corner, watching with wide, fascinated eyes as one of their blacksmiths pulled a flaming-red sword from the nearest furnace.

“Chip,” Adam said, moving over. “Do you know where your Papa is?”

Chip tore his gaze from the scene. “Over there,” he said happily, pointing in a rather vague direction. His eyes quickly returned to the man’s work, who was now ramming a hammer against the hot blade.

Adam scanned the crowd again, finally catching sight of Henri surrounded by a dozen others on the opposite side of the tent. As Adam wove his way over, he saw that Henri was fitting each of these men to a weapon and, in some cases, a breastplate or other armor.

Henri glanced up then, sleeves rolled up well past his elbows, every inch of him coated in soot that made his usually-blond beard appear black. “Ah, yer Highness!” he said, waving him over.

Adam, dodging a man rushing past with a hot fire tong, managed to make it through the small crowd that had parted ways for him. “Hey Henri,” he said, nodding towards barrel of swords close by. “I know you’re really busy, but do you think I could get one of those?”

Henri grinned, and nodded, but instead of moving towards the barrel he dismissed the others and led Adam towards the far corner. Here lay dozens of carefully wrapped cases, and after looking through them for a minute Henri pulled one out. Unbinding the thick leather, he turned back, displaying the long sword in the palms of his hands.

“Here ya are, my lord.”

The weapon had a smooth black, traditional handle reinforced with gold, and was contained in a case of red leather. The colors of his family crest.

Adam picked it up and slowly pulled the long blade free. Symbols of the royal coat of arms and a pattern of the sacred _fleur-de-lis_ lilies were carved by a talented hand right into its silver surface, which shone bright even in the dim shop.

 _“Woah,”_ he breathed, holding it up to the firelight and admiring it with awe. It felt sturdy, but not burdensome, somehow fitting perfectly in his grip.

“You didn’t expect me to give just any ol’ sword to my prince, did ya?” Henri chuckled.

Adam looked back at him. “But how did you know…?”

“The ol’ commander told me you’d been wanting one,” Henri shrugged.

“He did?”

A few minutes later, and Adam approached the temporary training area, nothing more than an open area of grass where some two dozen men had paired off to practice. Nearly twice as many who were practicing, however, had gathered to watch a single pair separated from the rest. When Adam moved over to investigate, they scattered.

“A-Apologies, yer Highness,” one smaller fellow said, tipping his hat nervously. “It’s just…not every day ya see a lady do such things.”

Adam cocked his head. “Huh?”

“Watch your footing, my dear,” someone was saying.

Adam looked over, mouth falling open in surprise. There stood Belle, feet apart, breathing hard, none other than a sword of her own in one hand. Gilles stood across from her, appearing much more relaxed as he gave her instructions.

Belle huffed, clearly frustrated with whatever mistake she’d made. She scrunched up her face as she repositioned her feet. Adam moved closer.

“Oh, Adam!” she flushed, catching sight of him and straightening quickly. She brought a hand to the back of her neck, looking away.

“This is new,” he hummed warmly.

She shrugged. “Sorry I didn’t mention it. It’s just, I suppose it’s a bit unladylike to learn such things…”

Adam didn’t think so at all. In fact, he thought it was wildly attractive. It didn’t help that wisps of her long, plaited hair were sticking against her neck, skin glistening in the sunlight. He shook his head. “No, I think...I mean, it’s good,” he said belatedly.

“I shouldn’t really have to use it,” Belle went on. “But Gilles thought it would be a good idea to learn anyhow.”

“It _is_ a good idea,” Adam agreed. He motioned towards her weapon. “Can I see it?”

She nodded, and handed it over. “Henri made it for me,” she explained.

“He made me one too.” Adam pulled his new blade from his belt, letting her hold it. He noticed immediately the similarities between the two—for while Belle’s sword was obviously shorter and lighter, they were both patterned using the same colors and materials. Belle’s blade only missed the carvings of the royal emblems. _For now,_ Adam thought to himself.

“You better start practicing if you want to catch up with me,” Belle said then, eyes bright and teasing.

Adam only smiled at that. For he knew something Belle didn’t.

“You already know how!” she cried a minute later.

Adam grinned, sword held aloft, having already parried off several of Gilles’ attacks. An innate, probably immature part of him liked showing off for Belle, and so found her surprise all the more entertaining.

“Our prince took after his father as a boy,” Gilles explained. “Watched the king and I spar but once and wouldn’t leave me alone until I took him on as my student.”

“I wanted to be an explorer,” Adam shrugged, glancing back at Belle. “And everyone knows you can’t be a good explorer without fighting off pirates and cannibals.”

She laughed. “You probably never guessed it would be witches you’d be fighting off instead.”

Adam grimaced. “True.”

“Come, my prince,” Gilles said from behind them. “You’ve maintained much muscle memory, but I’m afraid you’re still quite rusty.”

Adam nodded. He gave Belle a quick kiss—his new favorite thing to do—then resumed his stance as she wandered off towards her tent to bathe.

Gilles settled into his own relaxed position, lifting the old sword he’d once occupied. “Belle has done surprisingly well in so short a time,” he observed.

“Of course she has,” Adam said. “She’s _Belle.”_

Gilles chuckled at that, blocking several of Adam’s attempts to disarm him.

Adam scrunched up his face in concentration, but went on. “The thing is…I know Belle’s capable, and I promised we’d face everything together from now on, but…” He sighed, pulling back a bit. “I can’t help but want to keep her as far away from all this until the danger is gone.”

A look flashed across Gilles’ face, one Adam didn’t understand. He was still getting used to everyone’s new expressions, after all.

“It’s a natural wish, I think,” Gilles agreed after a moment.

Given he seemed distracted, Adam bolted forward to take advantage of the opening. He swung with all his might, but the old commander stepped out of his way with ease. Adam yelped, crashing into the fence behind him.

Gilles simply looked amused. “Ah, my prince, remember,” he noted. “Victory isn’t determined by brute strength.”

Feeling a little sheepish, Adam stood and brushed himself off before trying again. “Is that what you’re teaching Belle?” he asked, starting up the spar once again.

“Indeed. As well as…” Batting Adam’s strikes away, he then coughed into his free hand. “Well, men do have one particularly… _weak_ spot that can be taken advantage of.”

Adam, realizing what he meant, paused again in their fight. “Gilles…” he said slowly, starting to smile. “Did you teach Belle to fight dirty?”

“I taught her to _protect_ herself,” Gilles corrected, raising a finger.

Adam thought back to one freezing winter night, of bruises so deep in her skin not even the darkest shadows could hide them. He narrowed his eyes.

“Good.”

* * *

“Oh Belle, he’s ten _times_ as handsome as Gaston,” Laurette whispered excitedly.

Belle flushed. “That’s not why I—”

“And tall,” Paulette sighed, eyes distant and dreamy. “And so _strong!”_

“Oh, well, I suppose—”

“You were holding out on us,” Laurette added, grabbing her arm and peeking around her shoulder for a better look.

Belle opened her mouth to explain, before realizing that was entirely impossible. Instead she just sighed, turning back to watch the match before them.

After two more weeks of recruiting across the countryside, they’d reached Molyneaux once again. Adam had overcome much of his social anxiety already, and now had few reservations when it came to mingling with anyone and everyone he met. As such he presently found himself in a friendly tournament with several of the other young men from town, and a large crowd had gathered to watch.

 _What a peculiar prince,_ Belle thought with warmth, remembering the first time she’d thought so all those months ago.

It was strange to be in her home town once again—to see the people who’d once scorned or, at best, ignored her, to be suddenly treated like a royal simply because she was courting one. No doubt that explained Laurette and Paulette’s sudden familiarity with her.

Their new friendliness wasn’t the only thing that was strange. By now, of course, Gaston’s disappearance had long since been accepted by the villagers. Yet from what the old bookseller told Belle, few tears had been shed at his loss. And it was then that she realized what she’d perceived as respect for him had likely been nothing other than fear. Even the triplets seemed no worse for wear at his absence, though Belle didn’t yet know why. Only that Claudette had gone to live with some distant relatives for a time.

The shouts in the square grew, and Belle watched as the man Adam had been matched with was disarmed. Adam quickly pulled back, tucking his own weapon into his belt and helping the man back to his feet. He said something she couldn’t hear, but whatever it was it made his opponent smile wide, and laugh.

“Did you really find him, Belle?” Laurette asked, eager. “Save him from the palace, where Victor had imprisoned him?!”

It was an exaggerated story of what Adam and his father had conveyed to the people to explain Belle’s involvement. Though in a way, it quite underestimated the truth. “I mean, I suppose…” Belle shrugged.

“To think someone so gorgeous was locked away all this time!” Paulette cried then, a hand over her chest. “How heartbreaking.”

“Look!” Laurette said quickly. “Here he comes!”

Belle raised a brow. Adam’s good looks were no secret, of course, but she’d hoped the girls would at least tone it down considering he was _her_ beau.

At that thought, however, Belle stopped. This was a new kind of irritation she’d never felt before. _Huh,_ she wondered, frowning.

Adam hurried towards Belle then, looking as though he meant to ask her something. However, upon noticing their company he stopped. “Oh, um…bonjour! I’m Adam,” he said politely. He cleared his throat. “Prince Adam, I guess. And you?”

Laurette, all things considered, was actually a bit more sensible than her sisters. Yet to be in the presence of such rarely-bestowed masculine beauty was far too much even for her, and in response she simply gaped at him. Beside her, Paulette dissolved into nervous giggles. “Paulette, Your Highness,” she managed after a moment, batting her eyes and lifting one hand—with a clear wish for her prince to bestow a kiss on its surface.

Belle pouted at that, feeling that twinge of annoyance grow tenfold. _Really, Paulette?_

Meanwhile, Adam stared at the offered hand, a dozen silent cogs swirling in his mind as he tried to recall the proper thing to do. Suddenly, he brightened, reached for Paulette’s hand—and gave in a firm shake.

“A pleasure to make your acquaintance!” he said in earnest. “It’s—it’s so good to meet Belle’s friends.” He smiled warmly then, and glanced back at Belle. _Did I do okay?_ his look seemed to ask.

Oh goodness, he was so oblivious to what Paulette had really wanted, and so utterly without guile that Belle’s annoyance vanished in an instant. In fact, it was all she could not to laugh on the spot. Her grin seemed to placate him, and Adam’s shoulders relaxed.

“Prince Adam!” someone called out. “You’re needed here, Your Highness.”

Looking towards the sound of the voice, Adam gave a quick nod in its direction before turning back to them. He bowed to Paulette and her sister, then reached for Belle’s hand. “Love you,” he said happily, kissing her flat on the mouth before jogging off to where Cogsworth was waiting for him.

Meanwhile, the girls nearly fainted. “He’s so bold!” Laurette cried.

Belle bit her lip, trying to hide her smile. In truth, Adam just hadn’t a clue couples typically didn’t show such affection in the middle of the street. Of course, how would he? And well…Belle wasn’t about to tell him. He was so open with his joy and love right now, and she’d hate to spoil that.

“He’s a little funny though, isn’t he?” Paulette observed then. Laurette elbowed her in the side. “I mean, in a _good_ way,” she backtracked quickly. “Like you, Belle!”

Laurette shot her sister a look, clearly indicating that wasn’t any better. Then she looked back at Belle, and grimaced. “Belle, we’re…well, we’re sorry. We should have been nicer to you all those years.”

Belle paled in embarrassment. “Oh, um, it’s all right,” she said awkwardly, looking away. “I wasn’t very sociable, and—”

“No,” Laurette insisted, shaking her head. “It wasn’t right, especially…” She paused, sucking in a shaky breath. “E-especially after what your mother did for us.”

Belle blinked in surprise, looking back. “What do you mean?”

“I think…I think that’s why she got sick,” Laurette admitted, voice growing thick. “Maman had it too—the coughing—but after your mother cared for her all those weeks she started to…she started to get better again.” She was crying now, rubbing her eyes furiously against her sleeve. “B-but I think…I think that’s why your mother…”

Paulette herself now looked devastated, clearly not having put this together until now. It must have been the first time Laurette expressed it aloud.

Belle was quiet, heart thundering in her chest. She forced it to quiet, forced her throat to clear before she spoke. “We don’t know that for certain,” she said quietly, rationally. And suddenly, the aching in her heart dissolved into a strange kind of understanding. She looked up at the girls before her. “And even if that’s why…I think Maman would have done it again.”

Laurette looked up then, eyes wet and wide in awe. “You’re really nice, Belle,” she said, sniffling. “I think we could have been good friends, actually.”

Paulette nodded slowly in agreement, biting her lip and looking at her feet.

Belle’s mouth fell open in surprise—of all the strange things that had happened in the past year, this was one thing she would have never seen coming. Slowly, she smiled.

“We _are_ good friends,” she decided.

Laurette blinked, and the two sisters brightened at once. And before Belle could say anything more, they had wrapped her in a tight hug.

When they pulled back, a little girl was at their side. Her light brown hair fell in big brown ringlets, pulled away from her face with a small white bonnet. She had the same distinct, button nose like the triplets—their youngest sister, now tugging on their skirts.

“Who’s he?” she asked eagerly, pointing towards the closest bench. Chip sat there, munching on a bowl of stew and watching the surrounding people with interest.

“He’s with the king’s party,” Laurette explained. “Why don’t you go say hello?”

Their sister nodded quickly, running off in Chip’s direction. She paused at his side, placed her hands behind her back, and leaned towards him. “Bonjour!”

Chip started, turning quickly to see who’d surprised him.

She smiled. “I’m going to play with my friends. Want to come?”

Chip only stared at her. The tips of his ears were starting to go scarlet.

“Can’t you talk?” she asked, frowning.

“Oh! Yeah, I can, I just…” he fumbled. He put his bowl down, and stared at his feet. “I can’t, um…I can’t run though.”

“Why not?”

He nodded towards his crutches, leaning against the bench beside him. “My legs don’t work well. I mean, not _yet,”_ he added quickly. “They will later. I just have to practice more.”

“Oh, well, that’s okay,” she said, taking the seat beside him. Chip flushed further as she did. “We can play a sitting game—it’s called _Murder!”_ she went on, leaning close. “You all sit in a circle and pass out cards, and someone is the murderer, but you don’t know who and have to guess.”

“The…murderer?” Chip asked nervously.

“Not really. It’s just pretend,” she giggled. Then, with a coy turn of her head very much resembling that of her three older sisters, she went on. “ _And_ we all hold hands.”

“Y-you do?” Chip asked, eyes growing wide.

“Uh huh. It’s how you share a clue,” she said matter-of-factly, standing again. “Want to play?”

Chip nodded earnestly, an excited smile now stretching over his face. He reached for his crutches and stood, following her across the road.

“Do you need help?” she asked.

“Nah, I got it,” Chip said with confidence, moving into the street with more gusto than he’d ever moved before.

“I’m Nicolette,” she said then, prancing happily beside him. “What’s your name?”

“Ch—,” he started, then stopped. “I mean, Jack. My name’s Jack.”

* * *

“Turning our people against Victor has been far easier than I thought,” Alexandre observed, with no small amusement. “They’re dying to get their hands on him!”

Adam grinned. While their travels across the countryside had revealed more poverty like that in Preuseville, other towns had escaped the worst of Victor’s abuse and offered vast numbers of volunteers for the cause. And even the most desolate of villages seemed rejuvenated at the prospect of dethroning the king that had ruined them.

And now they were here in Molyneaux, not an hour hard ride from the palace. The palace, where his uncle was no doubt blindly indulging himself on the castle’s comforts, and the enchantress weakening his army without any idea how close she was to defeat.

Adam reached unconsciously for the sword at his hip, gripping the handle and narrowing his eyes. He’d become accustomed to it being there, knowing what he’d need to do…but the weapon still felt heavy at his side.

Someone touched his arm, and he looked over. Belle stood there, and the sight of her lifted that heaviness away. He let go of the hilt and wrapped an arm around her. But before he could say anything, someone else approached.

“Your Majesty, Your Highness,” Cogsworth said to him and his father, bowing swiftly before pulling a sheet of parchment from his vest. “I’ve arranged a final meeting with the village officials, and a final address before…”

Adam tuned him out, biting back a groan. While he’d actually quite enjoyed all the new interactions, and the chance to finally _do_ something this past fortnight, it had come at the sacrifice of spending time with Belle. Did Cogsworth really have to claim every hour of his day?

“We’ll be there in a minute,” Adam fibbed, reaching for Belle’s hand and starting to inch away. “Belle’s just going to, um…” He thought quickly, and raised a finger. “She’s going to show me her old school.”

Belle raised a brow at him as they scurried off, but didn’t mention it until they were out of earshot.

“Adam,” she said then. “…You know I didn’t go to school.”

“I do,” he agreed. “But Cogsworth doesn’t.”

Belle blinked once, then grinned. “Well, then where _are_ we going?”

He squeezed her hand. “Your house?” he asked hopefully. It was _technically_ her old school, after all, so he hadn’t lied to Cogsworth. Exactly.

Belle, however, just paused in her tracks. “But you’ve already seen it,” she said, biting her lip. “In Agathe’s mirror, remember?”

“Well, sure, but that doesn’t count.” He pouted a little. “Please?”

Belle took one look at him, and sighed. “All right,” she smiled. Still, she seemed a bit uneasy, though Adam couldn’t imagine why.

They walked hand in hand towards the edge of town, a few villagers heading in the opposite direction holding lanterns against the growing shadows. Most who caught sight of Adam bowed, though their children simply waved at them happily.

“Hi Belle!” a little girl cried. Beside her, her parents smiled.

Belle blinked in surprise, hesitated, then waved back at them tentatively. It was her home town, yet she seemed taken aback when greeted by her own neighbors.

Nearing a steep hill at the edge of town, Belle stopped, looking behind her. “They’re only being nice to me because of you,” she said under her breath.

Adam frowned. “No, they’re being nice because you’re a _hero,”_ he said adamantly. “And they realized how foolish they were not to see how great you were before.”

Belle raised her brows at him, but her eyes seemed a little happier regardless.

Soon she was leading him up old stone steps sunk deep into the hillside, stopping before a small but sturdy house at the top. He’d seen it so many times in the mirror that it felt strange to be looking at it with his own eyes. In person, he could see the full expanse of twilight-tinted sky behind the small house, the trees spotting the larger hills to the south. The air was still warm, crickets chirping somewhere nearby as night inched across the distant fields. It was a bucolic scene, the air filled with smells of summer that made Adam feeling unusually calm.

Adam took Belle’s lantern for her as they approached the covered porch, pressing his free hand to one sturdy oak beam as he waited for her to pull a key from her pocket. He could feel patterns carved in the wood beneath his fingers, worn by time and weather. 

Beside him, Belle turned the lock and pushed open the door. Adam followed her inside, holding out the light and looking around the open space.

Open, and empty.

_“My wife, she’s very ill. I’ve sold everything I can trying to afford her care…”_

Maurice’s words echoed in his thoughts as Adam recalled that first, fated night he’d found him trying to steal from the castle. He cast his eyes around the empty room, truly understanding how desperate the man had really been.

“It wasn’t always so bare,” Belle whispered beside him.

Adam looked back down at her, suddenly understanding her embarrassment from before. “I know,” he said softly. He reached for her hand. “Tell me what used to be here.”

So she did. A table and chairs in the kitchen, a large cabinet with her grandmother’s old dishes, a rocking chair beside the hearth. A large, blue sofa she’d often fallen asleep on with a book.

Adam smiled at that last one. “Hey, what are these?” he asked, noticing several small shreds of parchment pinned along one wall of the narrow hallway they now walked through.

“Oh, Papa always refused to take those down,” she explained. “It’s a little embarrassing, actually. I couldn’t have been more than four when I made that one.”

Adam followed her gaze to a sketch of a very round, five-legged creature. He ran his fingers along its edge, careful not to smudge the old charcoal. “Philippe?” he read along the bottom, chuckling.

Belle grinned in amusement, her cheeks flushing in the dim light.

Adam’s gazed drifted across the wall, noticing several careful lines carved into its surface that climbed up one supporting beam. A date was noted carefully beside each one, marking a child’s height.

“Is this that summer you grew a lot?” he asked, pointing to the largest gap.

Belle laughed quietly. “Yes.”

He ran his fingers over the grooves, heart warming at the sight. He wasn’t sure why, but seeing these remnants of Belle’s childhood made him love her even more. Made him wish he could have known her then.

“Come,” Belle whispered. For some reason both spoke quietly, here in this dark and empty home. “I want to show you something.”

Taking the lantern back, Belle guided him around a corner to the base of a narrow ladder, tucked into the darkness. She climbed up quickly, turning and holding the light so he could follow. Not two steps up and the ladder creaked under his weight.

He cursed, but Belle only smiled. “Don’t worry,” she said from above. “They’ve always done that, especially whenever Papa had to come up here.”

Nodding, he finished the short climb and found himself in an attic with a ceiling low enough he had to duck. In fact, the walls and ceiling were one, meeting in the middle at a point. A single window sat in one slanted wall, staring out across the southern countryside, though it was almost completely covered in darkness now. 

Adam looked over the rest of the space. A chest sat in one corner, a small pile of books at its side. Several bouquets of dried flowers hung from nails along the wall, the rest of the wooden surface covered with patterns of trees and landscapes drawn in fading white chalk. Scuffs along the floor indicated a small bedframe was once here, but all that was left now was a bedroll tucked against the wall.

Belle was unfastening the latter. She spread the thick bedding across the floor, and looked back at him. “My room,” she explained a bit shyly. “It’s not much, but it does have _one_ thing the castle doesn’t.”

She beckoned him over, and Adam scanned the space curiously for any sign of what she meant as he moved to sit by her side on the thick quilt. Dimming the lantern, Belle laid on her back, pulling him down with her.

“Belle…?” Adam asked in confusion.

“Look,” she said, pointing to ceiling above. Adam followed her gaze, but saw nothing but the dark wooden beams above. That is, until Belle reached back and pulled on a cord hidden in the shadows.

The sound of spinning hinges echoed in the small space, and suddenly a wide patch of the roof was opening above them. The sky was dark now, revealing the first signs of stars.

“Wow,” Adam breathed, smiling. She’d been right—not even the palace had anything quite like this.

“Papa made it for me,” Belle explained. “I think he was tired of finding me stargazing on the roof.”

“On the roof?”

She grinned a bit, snuggling up closer to him and staring back at the nighttime sky. “It’s nothing _close_ to the view from the peak…but it was always nice to fall asleep beneath the stars.”

His heart warmed again. He imagined a younger Belle, alone in this small attic, wondering about the world above. He remembered himself, staring out his balcony as a boy and wondering the same. He was glad they could wonder together, now.

 _Speaking of wondering._ “Your friends, were they twins?” Adam suddenly asked, curious. He’d never seen two people look so much alike before; but then, he really hadn’t seen that many people _period_ in a long time. “I wasn’t sure if it was rude to ask…”

Belle chuckled. “You could have asked. But actually, they’re triplets. The third…” She stopped, growing serious. “This was told to me in confidence.”

Adam nodded.

“She’s with child,” Belle said quietly. “She left to stay with a relative further south for her confinement.”

“But…what about the father?”

“He abandoned her.”

“What?” Adam said in shock. “How could he do that? If they…I mean, didn’t he love her? Doesn’t he want his child?”

Belle’s eyes seemed to soften at his words, and Adam realized his own ignorance even before she explained. “A wife and child are expensive,” she said. “Many men would rather escape the burden then take responsibility for such a mistake.”

“But _she_ still has to…” He trailed off, frowning deeply. “We should find him, make him provide for her!”

“Adam, it’s not that easy,” Belle said calmly. She looked away. “Besides, he’s dead now.”

“How do you…?” He stopped, noticing the dark look in Belle’s eyes. His own grew wide. “Gaston,” he realized, awfully. “Oh my God, that bastard…”

“He’s gone. There’s no reason to be angry anymore,” Belle shrugged.

Perhaps so. But Adam couldn’t help but feel that old anger again anyway. “The kingdom should help care for people in that position,” he decided. “What’s she supposed to do now? That’s so unfair…”

“Most would blame her for it.”

“What?”

Belle wrinkled her nose. “Men are never at fault in such things,” she said sourly. “Women shoulder the responsibility, and the shame.”

Adam felt an unpleasant feeling in his stomach at her words. “That’s…not right.”

Belle was quiet, and his words died in the warm night air. Then, squeezing her eyes shut for a long moment, she sighed. “Sorry,” she whispered. “Talking about him makes me angry too, I guess.” She swallowed, but went on. “This is so silly, but…but I wish it hadn’t been him.”

“What hadn’t been him?” Adam asked.

“…My first kiss,” she admitted, burying her face against his sleeve. “I wish it had been you. But he took that away from me.”

Adam’s heart sank in his chest. Even in death, Gaston was still hurting her. Hurting Belle, hurting her friend… How many others were suffering from his legacy?

Well, Belle wouldn’t suffer from it. At least, as little as possible, if he had any say in the matter.

“Belle…what he did, that doesn’t count,” Adam said in earnest. “He—he forced you to do something you didn’t want to do. So it _doesn’t_ count.”

She looked up at him, eyes hopeful. “Really?”

“Of course!” He rolled onto his side and brushed the hair from her eyes. Then, softly, he kissed her himself. “…But that counts, right?” he asked, pulling back.

Belle nodded. “Mmhmm,” she smiled.

“And this one?” he said, repeating the action.

Belle giggled against his mouth, hands reaching up and holding the sides of his face with tenderness. He pulled back, looking down at her in the shadows of early night, her eyes full of the new stars above.

He didn’t know what it was. Perhaps it was something about seeing her here, in the place she came from. The place that made Belle _Belle._ Or maybe it was simply the fact that they were lying together on the soft bed of her childhood. Either way, _something_ in him was stirring, a heat he’d barely managed to keep at bay these last weeks together.

And suddenly they were kissing again, in a deep, desperate way they hadn’t kissed before. Belle’s fingers ran over his head, raking through his hair and down his back as she pulled him closer.

Adam felt a groan in the back of his throat. There had always been a pleasant warmth between them, but this…this was a _fire._

His body moved, hovering just over her, breaking the kiss and letting his lips trail away. Towards that soft place, just below her jaw. Towards that even softer place against the base of her neck—

Belle’s fingers tightened in his shirt, gripping hard. “Oh…”

Adam froze. He pulled back quickly. “S-sorry,” he gasped. “I’m sorry, I—”

Belle shook her head. “It’s all right,” she whispered. “Just, maybe stay above…” She let her words trail off, instead letting one finger trail from a point just below one shoulder to the other, barely grazing the tops of her breasts. Then down to draw another, a hand’s width above her knee. “And below…here.”

Adam watched, eyes growing wide. He hadn’t expected to be allowed so much. “Oh…” he breathed shallowly. He looked back into her eyes. “Of course, my love.”

Slowly, he pulled back to her side and found her ankle in the darkness. So soft beneath his fingers, he traced her skin lightly, stopping just beneath her knee. Cupping the gentle curve of her calf, he pulled her leg up and leaned back down, slipping his free arm beneath her shoulders. “You can change your mind,” he said softly. “Or tell me to stop. Anytime, for anything.”

“All right,” she agreed. She trembled against him. “But don’t stop now.”

A deep, primal sound rumbled in his chest, but neither laughed this time. Instead he let his lips brush her neck again, working his way down her shoulders and around to that beautiful hollow beneath her collarbone. Time seemed to stand still as he explored her skin, enjoying the soft sounds she made in response.

When the lantern’s oil ran low and left them in near darkness, however, Adam pulled back.

“Belle,” he said hotly.

“Mmm?” she hummed.

“…I should probably sleep in my own tent tonight.”

Belle opened her eyes, dark and throbbing. “Probably.”

And so they left the little house on the hill. And later, as Adam lay alone in the quiet of night, he felt certain for the first time that nothing could destroy his new happiness.

* * *

“Mon ami, do not get your gears in a twist.”

Cogsworth sputtered. “Gears! I no longer have—”

“All is _well,”_ Lumiere went on in earnest, cutting him off. “Nothing can destroy our plans now!”

Cogsworth sighed, staring back at him from a reflection in the palm of Lumiere’s hand. A round mirror, small enough to fit snuggly in a hidden pocket in his jacket, the only reflective surface within the castle capable of communicating with the world outside. The rest had been spellbound by old Agathe to show a false world beyond the walls, ensuring Circe couldn’t look and see the efforts of the others to free their prince and recruit the kingdom to their cause.

“We expect another report at ten o’clock _sharp,”_ Cogsworth said then, checking his pocket watch and frowning.

“Yes, yes,” Lumiere whispered, looking around once again to ensure he was not overheard. He looked back at the mirror, and grinned. “Do not worry. I shall report then.”

Cogsworth nodded solemnly, and Lumiere snapped the small mirror shut in its dull bronze case. Tucking it in his pocket, he stood quietly for a moment, listening for the sound of boot falls in the hall. Hearing nothing, he stepped quietly out of the unused office he’d found refuge in, shutting the door behind him and heading to make his rounds through the castle.

At one time, under the reign of the true king—and even in the service of their young master while under a curse—this task had been a fulfilling one. Mingling with those who worked here, ensuring the palace remained sparkling and bright…it had been a role he cherished. Now, however, it was nothing less than terrifying.

Halls were lined with soldiers, lying in a brain dead stupor. The sconces in these places had long since grown dim from neglect, for the servants King Victor brought with him avoided these places when they could. The enchantress seemed to leave them alone anyway, focusing her efforts on the soldiers. Her path through the palace was more than obvious, for she left these trails of lifeless men in her wake. Not to mention the bright, deadly roses that grew along the floors and walls in her path.

In fact, the palace now seemed but a strange, dark mirage of what it had once been. The stone, guardian angels along its outer walls seemed to scowl, to hunch over like demons. The walls throughout were filled with cracks, everything lifeless and grey, covered in shadows. Was it just an illusion? Or was his own fear simply playing tricks on him?

Lumiere’s thoughts were interrupted by wheels, rolling near the gates. Frowning, he hurried to the front doors, just catching sight of a caged wagon rolling away through the mud before the guards shut the doors on him.

“Who was that?” Lumiere asked them.

“A shipment for the king,” one of them said. His voice was low and rough, a hint of strange amusement in it.

“Shipment?”

The soldier only smirked at him. His companion snickered.

Lumiere frowned, turning on his heel and heading in search of the king himself.

“Think they’ll let us have the leftovers?” he heard one ask the other from behind. The two men laughed darkly.

Lumiere wasn’t sure what that meant, but he didn’t like the way they’d said it.

Back through the halls he went, climbing winding stairs, heart beating as he neared the West Wing. _He_ was supposed to oversee all shipments, everything pertaining to the household. How had this escaped his notice?

Lumiere sighed. Cogsworth would be disappointed. Perhaps there was a method to the man’s madness after all, to all his hundreds of notebooks and lists, for keeping such a large place in order.

Still, it seemed strange that Victor should be up to anything. He certainly didn’t know Lumiere’s true intentions. In fact, he’d done little more than mope since Circe’s arrival. Of course her presence sent him into that strange, bewitched trance in which he obeyed her every bid—but given Circe was far too busy harvesting her powers from his men, the king was often left to his own devices. And once her spells wore off, he grew irritable and confused. Lumiere suspected that Victor knew something was off, just not exactly  _what._

He passed more remains of the enchantress’s work in his path. A few unlucky fellows among these actually looked dead.

 _Is she growing so desperate?_ Lumiere wondered. He glanced back at the corpses, and grimaced. They’d have to do something about those soon. The thought made him shudder.

He reached the end of the West Wing, standing before the grand doors to Prince Adam’s old rooms. He wrinkled his nose, thinking of the great injustice of letting Victor dwell there. Thinking how much darker the place looked now than it ever had before.

He sucked in a breath, trying to brighten his mood. _Just a little longer,_ he told himself. _You just have to make it a little longer!_ Then, pulling himself into his most elegant, exaggerated posture, he knocked brightly on the door and stepped inside.

“Your Majesty! I just came to inquire after—”

He stopped, staring across the dark bedchamber. And suddenly, terribly, he realized what that “shipment” had been.

Victor sat on the end of his bed, several of his highest ranking officers scattered across the room. Held by each, a woman—no, a _girl,_ for they were far too young to be the former—each dressed fine gowns.

Each wearing a chain about her ankle.

Lumiere tried to form a question, a word even—but the sound died on his lips. “Wh-who…” he finally managed.

“Slaves,” Victor answered lazily, licking his lips, eyes not leaving the girl beside him. Two more sat at his feet, trembling in fear. He brushed those large, swollen fingers over the child’s cheek, watching in cruel amusement as she flinched away. “Beautiful ones, _virgins_ even _._ Seems even a peasant can be made into something enjoyable.”

Lumiere was now quite certain he was going to lose his mind. When had this kind of trade entered their kingdom? “Th-this…this is _not_ how things are done here,” he hissed through gritted teeth.

Victor turned. “I am the _king,”_ he said, looking at Lumiere straight on. His eyes were full of hunger, full of cruelty. “Everything I do is ordained of God, is it not?”

Lumiere’s hands were shaking with rage. Rage, and fear. They had not anticipated this.

“Your dinner performances are growing tiresome,” Victor drawled, turning back to the girl. “So I took the matters of… _entertainment_ into my own hands. Now leave us, servant.”

Lumiere stared at him. Their plan rested on his ability to keep Victor and the Enchantress unaware of Prince Adam’s rescue and King Alexandre’s preparations for attack. Should he abandon these innocents for the greater good? _Could_ he?

He grit his teeth against a curse. Swallowing roughly, Lumiere bowed slowly and left the room.

He stepped into the hall. Pulling the small, unadorned mirror from his pocket, he flicked it open and stared at it for a moment. Stared at his only means for communicating with the outside.

Then he smashed it against the wall.

The candles nearby flickered nervously. Lumiere dropped the shattered case back into his pocket, and turned to them. “The plan has changed, mes amies,” he said darkly. “We move now.”

A half dozen voices spoke at once. _“Release me.”_

The golden sticks morphed into the forms of men. His footmen, armed and ready. Given freedom to move between their old forms by Agathe herself. Lumiere nodded at them, and reentered the bedchamber.

And yet again, he stopped dead in his tracks. For every man inside was now on the floor, eyes lifeless, chests empty and oozing blood. Dead.

Every man, that is, but the king himself. He was in the clutches of a tall, emaciated woman, latched in a terrible kiss that seemed to drain the very life from his eyes with each passing second.

Circe released him then, letting Victor gasp for breath and fall to his knees. She licked her lips slowly, staring down at him in fury, greying hairs draping over her face. “If there wasn’t a chance I’d need you later,” she said softly, voice like ice in the air. “Then I’d kill you too.”

She looked up then, eyes locking with Lumiere’s. He watched, frozen in fear, his men just as motionless behind him. She took a step closer, cocking her head.

“Monsieur Lumiere,” she said. She flashed a wicked smile, teeth red with blood. “You looked better as a candlestick, I think.”

A bead of sweat ran down his neck. She knew. Oh God, she knew.

“I can sense those who’ve been touched by my magic,” Circe went on. “You think I didn’t notice you and your band of merry men earlier?” She laughed, a hoarse and terrible sound. “I have your prince. I have your _king._ I have three hundred other men in my prison, hundreds more here in this palace, all in my power. You really think you have what it takes to defeat me?”

 _She doesn’t know it all,_ Lumiere realized in relief, thinking quickly. “Ah, Enchantress, you have it all wrong,” he said with false flair, even as a current of sweat seemed to flow from every pore in his skin. “Your arrival was quite a surprise. I could never presume to defeat such a powerful being as yourself. Indeed, we were only here to remove _him_ from power,” he indicated, pointing at Victor’s now-lifeless form, eyes glazed over where he lay on the floor.

Circe stared at Lumiere for a long moment, considering. “Well…on that we can agree,” she said at last, looking back at the king.

Across the room, the girls now cowered in fear, though the enchantress had left them untouched. Lumiere swallowed his own fear, and motioned to his men. “Get them out of here,” he told the eldest. The man nodded, before inching past the enchantress on the far side of the room with the other footmen. Victor’s slaves cried quietly at the approach, but soon relaxed when the footmen spoke to them and worked apart their bonds, following them from the room.

Circe didn’t pay them any heed, however, just looking back down at Victor’s writhing form. Her voice grew low. “I hate men like him,” she rasped. “They think because they have _power_ they can do whatever they wish.”

Lumiere blinked in surprise.

She looked back at him, as though sensing his thoughts. “Speak your mind, Monsieur.”

She was perceptive. He would have to be somewhat honest if he were to keep her in the dark. “Forgive me, Enchantress, but…are you much different?” he asked seriously, though hiding the true anger behind his words. “Preying on the weak? On our prince, when he was but a helpless child?”

“Helpless?” Circe asked, wrinkling his nose and growing angry. “ _Helpless?_ A prince, with his every need and desire met? A prince, having never suffered a day in his _life?!”_

“He had no choice in that—”

“A prince, with a father too absorbed in his own importance to see those beneath him!” she shouted, with a strange and uncontrolled fury.

Lumiere watched her unravel, frowning at the irony. “You can’t judge people by who their father is, now can you?” he stated seriously.

Circe froze, snapping her head around and staring him straight in the eyes. Lumiere’s mouth grew dry, realizing his mistake too late. Realizing his knowledge of her father—of the poor gardener who’d abandoned her—was something he should certainly not have known. For it had been a tale told by Agathe, known only by Agathe.

Lumiere cleared his throat nervously. “I mean—my own father. Awful man, quite terrible,” he fibbed, trying to undo the damage he’d done. “And I mean, I’m a spectacular fellow! Really, we r-really shouldn’t judge—”

The enchantress was before him in an instant. The words died in his throat as she towered over him, twice as tall as before, her thin, wiry silver hair draping over her hollow cheeks and onto his shoulders.

Her hand fell onto his shoulder, sending a shiver down his spine as she let it slide down his vest. She stopped at his pocket, reaching inside and pulling out the small, broken mirror. She looked at it, narrowing her bright, bleeding eyes in the dark room. “You put on a good show, sir, I admit,” she rasped. “But not good enough.”

_Damn._

She dropped the mirror, gripping his throat in an instant with cold, scaly fingers. “You should have run when you had the chance,” she whispered, breath like ice against his skin. “Now tell me—what do you know?”

“I know nothing.”

She barred her teeth, moving closer. “You will tell me what you know, _Monsieur,_ or I will make you suffer until you do.”

“There is nothing to tell, Enchantress.”

Circe snarled at that, and squeezed.

And Lumiere felt nothing.

She pulled her hand back, as though burned upon a hot stove. “What?” she breathed in shock, stepping back and staring at him with wide eyes. She’d shrunk in stature again, the small exertion enough to reduce her to a normal height.

Lumiere’s heart thundered in relief. _We really are protected from her then,_ he thought, breathing deeply. “Ah,” he said, smirking and gaining confidence again. “You are not the first woman to gasp at my touch.”

Hissing, she flung her hands forth, golden chains flying at him and wrapping him head to toe. The moment she let them tighten, however, they dissolved into black mist.

“You are too gentle,” he went on, taunting. “You may be rough with me, _ma gazelle.”_

“Shut up!” she cried, forming several shining spears from nothing and sending them towards him. The weapons sagged midair, however, falling to the floor in a heap of dust.

Lumiere laughed. Circe’s frame quaked in response, her body shrinking further, back hunching and fingers growing thin and crooked. “Oh my,” Lumiere observed. “You are not looking yourself.” He stopped, growing serious and staring straight into those bloody eyes. “In fact, you are by far the greatest monster I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

Those red eyes grew wide. And, backing away, she screamed.

* * *

He was back.

Back in these woods, under the cover of night. Back within the walls of his old prison.

Adam breathed out through his mouth, slowly, trying to calm to throbbing in his chest. _It’s not your prison anymore,_ he told himself.

A hand in his, another on his arm, squeezing. “Are you all right?” Belle whispered.

He nodded. Then, realizing she couldn’t see well in the darkness, spoke. “Yeah.”

She squeezed again, and they moved a few more paces, following Gilles as he led them and a small handful of others among the thick summer growth, nothing but a dim lantern to guide them.

Early sunlight soon broke over the mountaintops, casting faint shadows from the trees. With the new light, Adam caught sight of carvings in the bark—of claw marks, made by the beast who once roamed these woods.

He breathed out again, breath shaking. He closed his eyes for a moment, feeling a fool.

_You’re pathetic._

He frowned at the voice. _No I’m not,_ he told it.

_You’re—_

_No. I’m **not,**_ he told it firmly. _I’m **human.**_

And the voice stopped.

They reached a familiar place, an opening in the trees, with a pile of debris placed naturally along the forest floor. The entrance to the bunker.

Adam looked over at Belle, confused, but she simply stared ahead and waited for Gilles to direct them forward.

“No guards should be so far from the castle,” she said under her breath. “But just in case—the light breaking over the mountaintops will blind them for just long enough to allow us to get inside.”

Though still puzzled at _why_ they were even here, Adam simply nodded.

They waited for several minutes. Adam thought he felt early morning dew form along his arms, setting his hair on end, but didn’t move. Then, just as the light broke over the mountaintops, Gilles tugged at something in the brush.

A quiet creak, and the trap door into the ground wound slowly open—much like the ceiling in Belle’s room had opened the night before. Belle reached for Adam's hand, hurrying forward before releasing him and crawling inside.

Adam looked in. A small wooden ladder was there now, and Belle was already several rungs down. She looked up at him, and smiled.

“Come, my love. It’s quite safe.”

He nodded, curious now, and followed Belle down, landing on a sturdy wooden platform. The tunnel into the ground was _enormous,_ the tiny dug-out space he could once just barely squeeze inside now replaced by a space reinforced by heavy beams and large enough to fit a dozen men.

“Are you surprised?” Belle asked, biting her lip excitedly as they waited for the others to join them from above.

Adam laughed quietly, looking around in awe. “Yeah,” he said. “You just wanted to see the look on my face, then? That’s why all the mystery this morning?”

She grinned. “Yes.” She sucked in an excited breath. “Papa designed it, though I did help a little,” she said proudly. Her smile faltered. “Well, I found the references to the elevator prototypes in the library, anyway.”

“Elevator?”

Before she could explain, the floor beneath him began to move. He wobbled, grabbing the side of the platform to regain his balance. He looked up, eyes growing wide as the dirt walls around them began to _move._ He blinked, feeling the floor beneath him shift again. No; the walls weren’t moving— _they_ were.

“Agathe’s magic,” Adam gasped, watching the walls all around fly upwards.

Belle chuckled. “No, just a little engineering.”

The others seemed unfazed by the device, standing and chatting to themselves as the elevator sped down. It only took a minute to reach the bottom, the contraption slowing and landing with a rough _thud_ on the ground. Belle led Adam off, and he looked back at the device. Several large pulleys were secured into the earthen walls, thick ropes winding through them and the platform and up into the dark tunnel above. He heard a snort, turning to see a large horse hooked to a round device, like an enormous wheel of a ship turned on its side. The animal looked pleased with himself, munching on an apple he’d been rewarded with for his work.

“There’s a horse…in the _bunker?”_ Adam asked, bewildered.

“Mmhmm,” Belle said, smiling. “A few, actually. They’re how we get down here.”

Adam looked back up into the darkness. “How do we get back up?”

“Same way,” Belle explained. “The design of the pulley means it takes much less effort to lift the same weight. The animals can manage it easily.”

Adam blinked, looking around. What had once been little more than a tiny crawl space was now the size of the grand ballroom, though the ceiling was much shorter. The room was filled with people—soldiers, mostly, wearing the uniform of his father’s reign, some chatting in small groups while others ate at long tables. Torches lined the walls, secured into the dense earth.

Adam walked up to one of these walls, pressing a hand to its surface, expecting the earth to crumble away.

Yet it didn’t budge. He gasped, heart in his throat, feeling that invisible brick-like surface there once again.

“Don’t worry,” Belle said quickly. “It’s like that for all of us. Agathe placed a barrier across these walls to protect us from any cave ins.” She reached for his hand, speaking softly. “You’re not trapped anymore.”

Adam nodded, feeling foolish yet again for how quickly he’d fallen into a panic. Calming himself, he looked back at the well-structured space. “Wow,” he breathed. “You really have been busy.”

“Well, this has been built for a while,” she said. “We weren’t sure how successful the recruitment would be, and wanted a means to sneak into the palace for a surprise attack, should we need to.”

“Sneak in?”

She nodded, pointing across the room. Another tunnel was there, dark against the wall, a few guards standing on duty nearby. “It connects to the passage you showed me. The one leading from the West Wing.”

“My prince,” someone said. They turned, where Gilles stood. He nodded, looking at them seriously. “It is time we prepare."

They retreated to a small, dug-out room nearby, separated from the others by a drape across the opening. Adam, Belle, their parents, Agathe, Henri, and a dozen other high-ranking soldiers stood around a table with a piles of maps. These depicted the rooms and floors of the palace in detail, spread over several sheets. Other maps showed the full palace grounds, a winding route of the tunnels beneath the earth and the paths through the woods. Several figures were placed across the parchment, indicating where Victor’s men were typically stationed—as provided to them by Lumiere’s correspondence with Cogsworth. Adam recognized Belle’s handwriting in many places. It seemed she’d helps create the maps herself.

“We’ve staged a three-fold attack,” Gilles was saying, indicating the positions with the tip of his finger. “Henri will lead the recruits down the main path, staging a mob attack. Then, with Victor’s remaining forces distracted, our generals will take the soldiers into the palace through the tunnels.” He turned, facing Agathe. “I will follow with you, Sifu, plus an elite force. With the paths cleared, we should be able to corner Circe and let you put an end to her.”

Adam hummed. “What about us?” he asked, puzzled.

Gilles stopped, and the room seemed to grow especially quiet. “Once we have your father’s approval of the plans, you will escape to safety,” he said, staring at the map. He looked up, scanning their faces, eyes meeting Adam’s, then Belle’s, then the king and queen’s. “All of you.”

“What’s this?” Alexandre asked, frowning deeply.

“You’ve done enough, Your Majesty,” Gilles said, standing tall and sucking in a breath. “Take leave of this place—let us fight, while you take refuge. Should victory be ours, we will send word for you.”

“Gilles, this was _not_ the plan,” Alexandre said firmly.

“It would be no good if you were lost,” Gilles said in earnest. “This way, if we fail, at least you have a chance to try again.”

“But Gilles, if you meant for us to leave…why did you train us to fight?” Belle asked in confusion.

“So you can be safe in your escape,” he explained. “Whatever happens, and wherever you go.”

“Gilles, this is nonsense,” Alexandre huffed. “Our plan is foolproof! There’s no need to take such precautions.”

“Circe can’t harm us,” Jacqueline said more calmly. “And Victor’s men—from Lumiere’s reports, they’re nearly defeated as it is.”

“No plan is foolproof,” Gilles said, not budging. “And even in the best of attacks, there are always casualties.”

“Gilles, I will not send my people in to fight my battles for me,” Alexandre said roughly. “It’s out of the question.”

Gilles grit his teeth, a strange look crossing his face. He turned to Adam and Belle, eyes full of anxiety. Adam had never seen him look so desperate before.

“You two must go, at the very least,” Gilles said. Begged, almost, as his hands gripped the table’s edge. _“Please,_ my prince. You have suffered enough. You have one another now—you mustn’t risk being separated again.”

“I…” Adam stopped. He looked down at Belle. “What if he’s right?” he asked her quietly. “What if this is a mistake?”

She frowned. “You would abandon them?”

No, he wouldn’t. Belle knew him well, knew he would never forgive himself for abandoning his people again, even if the first time wasn’t his fault.

Adam pursed his lips, turning back to Gilles. “We’re staying,” he said firmly.

Gilles’ face contorted. “You don’t—you don’t know what you’re risking!” he cried, slamming a fist on the table.

Adam’s eyes grew wide. He had never, _ever_ seen the man so upset. He’d barely seen him grow irritable at times; certainly nothing like this. “Gilles,” he started nervously. “I’m sorry, but—”

“My prince, you’re—you’re being a _fool!”_ he shouted.

 _“Gilles,”_ Alexandre said roughly. “Enough of this! What’s gotten into you?”

Gilles quieted, staring at the floor, gripping table hard. Then, cursing under his breath, he turned and swept out of the room.

The others remained quiet, awkward. Adam didn’t know what to do, feeling he was at fault for this somehow. Beside him, Belle chewed her lip nervously, looking back and forth between her feet and the door where Gilles had disappeared.

Eventually, Alexandre sighed. “I’ve put too much on him,” he said, looking regretful. “Let him stew. He’ll come around.”

They soon dispersed, moving into the main hall for a late breakfast. Belle stopped, letting the others trail ahead, looking worried.

“I’m going to look for him,” she said softly starting to move away.

Adam reached for her hand. “Me too.”

There were other passages in this place, rooms dug out to make space for supplies and a few sleeping areas. They found Gilles in one of the latter, sitting on the edge of a dusty cot with his head in his hands. He gripped something in one palm, attached to a chain that trailed beneath his shirt.

Belle ran to his side, hesitating before sitting on beside him and touching his arm with a gentle hand.

Gilles looked up, surprised. He hadn’t noticed them enter. “Mademoiselle,” he said, voice rough. He turned to Adam. “My prince, forgive me. I acted out of turn.”

Adam shook his head roughly, sitting on the cot across from them. “You’re only worried. I’m…I’m sorry I’ve made you so upset.”

Gilles sighed. “That is not your fault, Prince Adam. In truth, there…” He sucked in a breath, squeezing whatever it was he held in his hand. “Well, there is a reason I am so fearful for you both,” he admitted.

“What reason?” Belle asked carefully.

Gilles continued to look at Adam, eyes quaking. He’d never seen the old commander look so vulnerable. “Your Highness, I...” He swallowed. “I fear that to hear it, you will think ill of me.”

Adam frowned. “Gilles, you’re one of the best men I know,” he said in earnest. It was true; in fact, Gilles had sort of become a second father to him, especially all those years without his true one. “I could _never_ think ill of you.”

Gilles smiled, a little sadly, and nodded. “So be it.”

* * *

_Gilles finished folding the last shirt, placing it with care atop the others. His hands were shaking. He looked around his room once more, heart racing at the thought of never seeing it again._

_A small painting sat on the dresser. A lovely woman, with his same black hair and green eyes, staring at him with warmth. His mother, gone but a year now._

I wish I could talk to you, _Gilles thought, picking up the frame and swallowing hard against the lump in his throat._ I wish I knew what you thought of me now.

_Would she be ashamed of him, like Father? Or would she understand?_

_Running a finger over the frame, he sucked in a breath and tucked it between the folded clothes before shutting the traveling case and securing the clasps. Blowing out one final candle, he grabbed the case and headed into the dark halls._

_Moving on silent feet, he paused before a door down the hall. His sister’s room. Cecile would be fast asleep by now, and as much as he wished to tell her goodbye, he knew he couldn’t risk it. For as much as he loved her, he knew her loyalties lie with their father. So instead, he pulled a letter from his pocket and slipped it silently beneath the door. By the time she awoke and retrieved it, he would be long gone._

_Ten minutes later, and he was at the front gates, reigns in one hand as he guided a horse slowly across the path. He turned back, staring at the dark outline of his home for the final time. Then, with a burst of courage, he mounted and took off into the black night._

* * *

_“You made it,” Jean breathed in relief._

_Gilles slid off his horse, gasping for breath. There’d really been no need to ride so quickly, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was going to go terribly wrong, or the need to look over his shoulder every few minutes._

_Now, he looked back once again. The small, dirt road was empty and silent, the only sound the trickling of a nearby stream. He shook his head, sighing in relief._

_Jean’s hand found his in the darkness. “You okay?” he asked._

_“Yes.”_

_They embraced. Jean’s heart seemed to be beating just as fast as his, his broad frame quaking against him. So he was just as anxious, then._

_“All right,” Gilles said, pulling back and sucking in a breath. “Let’s go.”_

_They rode south, stopping when the sun crested the hills and the roads began to fill with early travelers. Jean’s arms had grown loose around Gilles’ waist in the last hour, cheek pressed against his back as he snored._

_“Jean, wake up,” Gilles chuckled, looking over his shoulder. “Let’s find someplace to get some real sleep.”_

_They stopped at the nearest inn, leaving the horse at the adjacent stable and securing a room for the day. For while it was unlikely Gilles’ father could hunt them down at this point, both felt it safer to travel by night._

_Later that evening, they sat waiting for supper in the inn’s tavern, speaking quietly at a table in a shadowed corner of the room._

_“Paris! Can you believe it?” Jean whispered._

_Gilles smiled, the nerves from their escape finally settling into excitement. They planned to sell the horse upon arrival in Paris, and use the money to rent a room until they could find work. Ideally as city guards—both were more than qualified for it. And Paris was large; they could hide there indefinitely and never fear discovery._

_It would be a humble life, far more so than Gilles had ever experienced. But for the first time, the future seemed full of hope instead of dread. Love, instead of shame._

_His heart raced at the thought. He did love Jean—that much was certain. But for all their plans, those words had yet to be spoken._

_Jean leaned close then. “What would you like to see first?” he asked eagerly. “Notre Dame? The Champs-lyses?”_

_Gilles barely heard him, however, for another conversation had caught his attention._

_“From what I hear, they’ll be overrun by week’s end.”_

_Gilles frowned, turning towards the voice. Three soldiers sat at a nearby table, speaking in hushed tones over their cheese and wine._

_“Too touristy?” Jean went on, then frowned. “…Gilles?”_

_“That damn Prussian prince,” another soldier observed. “Can’t go six months without creating some new border conflict.”_

_“Poor blokes,” the third replied, taking a swig from his glass. “Glad we were assigned down south before all hell broke loose.”_

_Gilles’ heart seemed to stop. He looked back at Jean, who was now staring at him with wide eyes. “Our home…” Jean whispered._

_“It’s in danger,” Gilles finished. Given his father was the governor of a bordering region of the province, it was his primary duty to defend his people against invaders. Yet knowing his father, he wouldn’t take any risks that would put his own life in harm’s way. Their people needed a true leader, and it was what Gilles had prepared himself for his entire life._

_And now he’d abandoned them._

_He clenched his fists, squeezing his eyes shut. That overwhelming drive for duty was back, tearing at his heart, shaming him for daring to think he deserved to do something for himself._

_“We better hurry back,” Jean said softly._

_Gilles looked up. Jean was watching him, eyes sadder than he’d ever seen them._

_“Jean…”_

_“You’ll never forgive yourself if you don’t, will you?” he pressed. Sucking in a breath, he found Gilles’ hand beneath the table. “It’s all right,” he went on bravely. He smiled, be it forced. “Really. We’ll…we’ll find another way.”_

_Gilles heart sank even further in his chest. Yet after a long, aching moment, he nodded._

* * *

_The ride back felt twice as long as before. They took a private road along the ocean side, high along the rocky cliffs. Distant waves crashed far below, floating over the empty night air. It wasn’t far now._

_Gilles slowed the horse near a place where the trees grew thick, coming to a stop._

_“What is it?” Jean asked._

_Gilles looked towards the distant moon, bright against the clouds overhead. “If we’re really at war…” he whispered. “Everything is going to change.”_

_“Everything was going to change today anyway,” Jean said, a forced lightness in his voice._

_“Not like this.”_

_They dismounted in silence, leaving the horse in the trees and moving slowly towards the cliff side. They sat on the rocky ledge, legs hanging into the empty night air, a salty breeze brushing the hair from their eyes. It might be the last minutes of peace they would have together for a long time, and both knew it. Nothing was certain now._

_The thought tugged at Gilles’ chest. He dropped his face in his hands. What if this was a mistake?_

_A warm arm wrapped around him, squeezing his shoulder. “Hey, it’s all right,” Jean said in encouragement. “It was a stupid idea to leave anyway. I shouldn’t have suggested it.” He paused, sighing. “I guess I just…I wanted to make you happy.”_

_“You do make me happy.”_

_Jean held him tighter, pressing his face into Gilles’ shoulder. Gilles looked over, and managed a smile. A sad one, but a smile all the same. If nothing else, he had this moment._

_And suddenly, he realized he needed to take it._

_“Jean,” he said quietly. He reached over, touching Jean’s cheek. Jean looked up with those light blue eyes from the darkness, waiting. But for all Gilles’ determination to say so, the words didn’t come._

_Jean smiled then, and pulled away. He reached for the sword at his waist, sliding it out halfway and tugging the ribbon from his hair with his free hand. Gilles furrowed his brows, watching as Jean leaned down and wove a section of his hair beneath the blade. A small lock of hair was sliced free, and Jean tucked the sword away._

_He reached for Gilles hand, placing the lock of hair in his palm. “So you’ll always have a piece of me with you,” he explained quietly. “No matter how long we have to wait.”_

_Gilles curled his fingers over the lock of hair, holding it tight. Then he leaned down and kissed the man he loved._

_It would be the last time._

_“You filthy pig.”_

_Gilles’ heart grew cold. He turned, staring in the direction of that terrible voice. A familiar voice. Five lanterns emerged from the darkness, a large shadow emerging from their midst._

_“Take them,” the voice said._

_Any other time, even five on two would have been nothing for them to handle. But now, these men had the advantage of surprise. Gilles quickly found his arms held tightly at each side, the two guards forcing him to his knees. Nearby, it took three others to hold Jean at bay. He was shouting at them._

_“G’off me!” he cried. “Let us go!”_

_Heavy breathing sounded from the shadows. Their leader stepped into the light._

_“Father,” Gilles gasped, cold dread falling into his stomach though he’d already known who it was. Even Jean had grown silent at the sight of him. “Father,” he said again. “I…I can explain—”_

_His words were cut off, a sharp force ramming into his jaw and whipping his head to the side._

_“Sodomite!” his father shouted in rage._

_The pain flowed over his skin, sinking deep into his skull. Gilles didn’t have a moment to catch his breath before the second blow._

_“Child of Lucifer!”_

_Gilles sucked in a breath, body quaking from shock. “F-Father…please—”_

_A knee to his stomach, and he gasped for breath._

_The beating didn’t last long—shorter than those of his youth, but filled with greater rage than any before. His father was holding nothing back._

_One final fist to the head, and the guards released him. Gilles fell from his knees to the earth, tasting the blood that ran from his temple, coughing up more._

_“Gilles!”_

_He could barely hear Jean, for all seemed to grow quiet, and bright. His head pulsed, and he stared at the dead grass beneath his fingertips that blurred in and out of his vision._

_“GILLES!”_

_“Leave us,” his father said darkly from somewhere close by. “And dispose of that scum.”_

_Gilles’ heart flew into his throat. “No,” he rasped. Yet he barely made a sound._

_“My lord?” one of the guards asked, clearly reluctant to fulfill such a task._

_“You heard me.”_

_Jean was pulled away by the soldiers, still screaming his name. “No…Jean…” Gilles choked out, reaching desperately with quaking fingers. “You can’t…you can’t—”_

_Another kick to his stomach. He found himself rolling towards the cliff side, the waves thrashing against the rocks far below. Gilles realized with bitterness that it was only after he’d been beaten to the point he couldn’t stand did his father dare risk facing him alone._

_“After Cecile showed me that letter, I just knew you’d come crawling back here,” he snarled. “But I never imagined…”_

_His father’s words trailed off, and a gun cocked. A gun far too close to be for Jean._

_His father held a dark pistol now, aimed directly for his heart. Gilles eyes grew wide. “Father…”_

_“You are no son of mine,” his father said. His voice grew low. “You are no man. You’re nothing but a filthy creature that has no place in this world.”_

_Gilles closed his eyes._ Maybe there’s a place for us **there,** _he thought._ A place on the other side.

_He waited in dread. Yet instead of a gunshot, he heard only a wet gasp. Opening his eyes, Gilles looked up in shock. The tip of a thin sword emerged from his father’s gut, dripping blood from its tip._

_“You’re wrong, my lord,” a voice said quietly. “There’s no place for **you** in this world.”_

_The sword slid back out, more blood gushing from the wound. His father choked once, dropping the pistol. Then his eyes rolled into the back of his skull and he fell in a heap to the ground._

_Behind him stood Jean. He held not one but two swords, the second already coated in blood along with the rest of his clothes. Gilles hoped that blood wasn’t his own._

_Funny he should worry about such when his own father lay dead in the grass. Yet at the sight of that, he felt nothing._

_Strong arms reached beneath him. Jean knelt at his side, breathless, cradling Gilles in his arms as he shook. The blades sat abandoned at his sides._

_“Gilles,” he gasped, “Are you all right?”_

_“I’ve been better.”_

_Jean only grimaced, wiping away the stream of blood from Gilles’ head with a trembling hand and looking close to tears. He looked behind him then, towards the dead body in the grass. “Oh God. Will you ever forgive me? I…I killed him—”_

_“He was going to kill **me,** Jean.”_

_“I know,” he conceded. He stared back towards the dark trees, holding Gilles tighter. “I don’t know if I killed the others or not…I just—just plowed through them so I could reach you, I was barely thinking.” He looked back at Gilles, wiping more blood from his head with the cuff of his sleeve. “We’ve got to get you to a doctor, can you—”_

_“There he is!” someone shouted._

_They looked towards the trees, more guards emerging from the shadows. They must have heard the earlier commotion. The new men stared at the scene, at Gilles’ dead father on the ground and the blood soaking Jean’s shirt._

_“He killed the governor!” one of them cried. “And attacked Lord Gilles!”_

_Several lifted their guns, surrounding them slowly. Jean stood quickly, moving back, hands held high in the air. The sounds of cocking guns rang out regardless._

_“No!” Gilles rasped. “Stop! He didn’t—”_

_Too late. Three blasts in a row. The darkness sent the first two into empty air, but the third caught flesh. Jean’s shoulder flew back, feet stumbling at the impact, body dipping dangerously close to the ledge behind him._

_“Jean!”_

_Jean’s eyes shot towards Gilles, wide and scared. And with one final, inevitable step back, his foot landed in the open air. He stretched an arm out, reaching towards Gilles in desperation. Then his body fell away into the darkness._

_“JEAN!”_

_Gilles tugged himself towards the cliff, ignoring the way his body screamed at him, nearly slipping over the ledge himself. Rough hands grabbed him, holding him back._

_“JEAN!” he screamed again, fighting them with the only strength he had left, staring into the sea. Yet he saw nothing, nothing but the bright reflection of the moon against the waters. No sound but the crashing of waves against the rocky cliffs below._

_His body grew numb, mind in shock, fingers gripping the lock of hair still tight in one palm. It didn’t seem real. It couldn’t be real._

_Yet it was. And it was all his fault._

* * *

“It was in my focus on duty that I sacrificed love,” Gilles explained.

“But you couldn’t have known,” Belle said, voice thick. She was gripping his hand hard, eyes full of tears.

He patted her hand with his other, sighing. “It doesn’t matter. The price was paid whether I wanted it so or not.”

The prince sat in silence before them, staring at the ground with unblinking eyes. Gilles could tell that Adam hadn’t quite understood at first—perhaps had never even heard of such a person as himself. Such things were not spoken of, after all, and the prince had been given little opportunity to experience the world beyond these woods.

However, after a moment the prince’s face contorted, and to the boy’s credit he reached over and rested a hand on his shoulder. “Gilles, I…I’m so sorry,” he said sincerely.

“It is all right, my prince. I only share this so you understand.” He squeezed the locket once again, the surface cool against his palm. “I have lived a life alone for my choice. I could not bear the same for either of you.”

The young couple was silent, thinking.

“Let’s just ask Agathe,” Adam said suddenly. “She can see the future, right?”

“Only when you’re sure of your path, child,” a voice spoke. They turned, spotting the old enchantress standing in the threshold, looking at them curiously. Adam opened his mouth to go on, but she stopped him with a hand. “Not that it matters. I’ve been trying to see the end of this battle for months now. Nothing,” she said, frowning deeply. “There’s nothing there, nothing at all. I should be able to see _something,_ unless the whole lot of you are planning to do something completely unpredictable,” she huffed.

Adam grew nervous at that. He looked at Belle, who stared back at him as though reading his thoughts. "What if it fails, because we weren't there?" she whispered. “Could we...could we ever truly be happy if they’re not free?”

Adam knew the answer even before she finished asking it. _No,_ he realized. _We couldn’t._

“I’m sorry Gilles,” Adam said. “But we have to see this through, to the end.”

Gilles closed his eyes. “I should have known. You are too good a lad to take the selfish way out. In which case…” He sucked in a breath and stood, gripping the blade at his belt. “I will go with you both, to the end."

“Sire Gilles!” someone called out.

He turned, frowning towards the door, where Cogsworth now appeared. He looked winded, leaning against the wall and sucking in a deep breath. “Gilles, it’s Lumiere.”

“What about him?” Gilles asked.

“He hasn’t checked in,” Cogsworth explained. “He’s overdue by a full forty- _seven_ minutes," he insisted, tapping furiously on the face of his pocket watch.

“He could simply be detained,” Gilles said. “I admit this is quite late, but from his recent reports Victor has been proving more difficult than usual to manage.”

“I don’t know,” Cogsworth said, uncertain. He pulled a small mirror from his pocket, a twin to the one Lumiere carried. “I can’t even get the blasted thing to _react_ anymore.”

“Mmm,” Agathe said, swiping the object from the man and taking a look. She pressed her fingers against it, then frowned deeply. “Oh, well, that’s because his side has been destroyed.”

She stopped, words catching up to her. They all froze, slowly looking to Gilles in unison.

He frowned deeply. "Well, then," he said, narrowing his eyes. “Tonight, we strike.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *** Chapter rating: Strong T for domestic violence, homophobia, blood, and implied sex slavery.


	26. Chapter 25

Circe stared into the long mirror, rapping her nails against the cold glass. A crisp image reflected from its surface: Prince Adam, sitting in the tower of her ancient fortress, head bowed and staring at his feet. Waiting for her next command, exactly as he should be.

She frowned, though she wasn’t sure why. She sent another silent command to the mirror, checking on the rest of her prisoners, on the surrounding countryside. Everyone, everything exactly as it should be.

Almost _too_ exactly.

She turned, looking back at that wretched servant Lumiere. He was currently encased by one of her spells – she couldn’t harm him, it seemed, but she could at least detain him. He didn’t seem the least bit perturbed, however, lounging lazily on the couch in the corner of the room, the invisible wall that surrounded him glimmering faintly while he examined one of the buttons on his sleeve.

She scowled, turning back to the tall mirror before her, which continued to scan the pleasant, undisturbed villages nearby. She frowned deeper. _I need to check on things myself,_ she decided. She sucked in a breath, exhausted, forcing a spell onto its surface that would let her travel to the locations shown. Lifting a hand, she made to pass through—

But the glass remained solid.

She paused for a moment, confused, feeling the magic seep from her fingertips yet making no difference. She tried again, lifting the other hand and pressing against the cool glass with all her might.

A loud _crack,_ and the surface shattered.

Circe breathed shallowly, staring at the spindle-like fissures in the glass radiating out from each palm. _I can’t…leave?_ she thought, shocked. She turned again, looking back at the servant in the shadows. Lumiere watched her now, a bemused expression on his face.

A new feeling was creeping into her chest, one she hadn’t felt in a very long time. The feeling of fear. That servant—he’d known about her past. But how? The only person who knew her truth was…

Her eyes grew wide, and she stepped back slowly. _She’s escaped,_ she realized, a sick feeling in her stomach. _That old hag…she’s escaped!_

She cursed aloud. How could she have forgotten something so important? Had that fool of a prince really managed to set Agathe free?

 ** _You’re_** _the fool,_ Circe thought, now trembling. _You placed her right in his hands!_ Circe brought her own hands to her head, mind foggy and dark. How long had it been so muddled? Why couldn’t she simply _think_ straight?!

Biting back a scream, she ran from the room. These halls were grand and large, decorated with the disgusting luxuries of men who built themselves up on the blood of those beneath them. The carpet beneath her feet, coated with the blood of those she’d taken for herself.

Circe glared at the hall’s fine adornments as she ran, mind blind with hate. Plowing ahead, she didn’t notice the way everything she laid eyes on crumbled and darkened in her wake.

She soon slowed, the old body she now encased growing tired far too quickly. She didn’t know where she was, only that this hall was quiet and dark, eyes staring at her from the shadows. Portraits, filled with the kinds of people she hated most in this world. She hissed at them, racing forward again, anxious to escape their stares and find more of Victor’s men to appease her growing appetite. Yet the damn paintings never seemed to end, and for all her efforts she merely found herself at a dead end. Here, the largest portrait of them all loomed over head, three figures painted across the grand canvas in colors that hadn’t yet dimmed with time. They made her feel small, and she had been about to turn away when the eyes from its frame caught her own.

Two pairs of blue, one brown. The latter belonged to a man with golden hair and a warm expression, hand resting on the shoulder of the blue-eyed woman beside him. In her lap, a son who grinned happily and shared her eyes. Eyes Circe knew far too well.

The rage built in her chest. Bristling, she threw up her arms and sunk her nails into the canvas.

A violent scream in her ears. Was it her own?

She tore through the painting with a swift motion, shredding the beautiful faces.

A sob. Was she _crying?_

When the deed was done, she stepped back, vision watery, trying to feel satisfied yet only feeling greater rage. And even through the ragged canvas, Prince Adam’s bright eyes found her from the darkness.

“Why did you do that?”

Circe’s heart stopped. Then, slowly, she turned, searching the darkness for the voice.

It spoke again, soft and youthful. “Why did you tear them apart?”

She finally found its source. A child, standing in the reflection of an old window connecting to the small, dark cemetery far below. A girl, wearing rags, watching her with furrowed brows.

“It’s just a painting,” Circe whispered, that new fear returning again, unsure what to make of this strange vision.

“I’m not talking about that.”

Circe looked away, back at the painting she’d destroyed, a new tightness in her chest. “They ruined my life,” she said bitterly.

“How?” the child asked in innocence.

Circe wrinkled her nose, whipping her head back sharply and glaring at the strange girl. “They—he—because of him, I…” She trailed off, growing frustrated, clenching weak fists at her side. “I don’t have to answer you, spirit!”

The girl only frowned. “You can’t even answer _yourself_?”

Circe froze. Then, slowly, she took a step closer to the window. From here, she saw the girl’s blond, matted hair, her cloudy eyes. The way she held a small, juvenile rose between the tips of her fingers with care.

Those blind eyes now grew wide and desperate. Frightened. “What have I become?” the child whispered.

Circe watched her start to back away. “Wait…” she said hollowly, reaching out old, bony fingers and resting them on the glass’s surface.

The young Circe only shook her head. “Y-you took him from his family,” she stammered. “The little prince. Just like we were taken from ours. You’re…you’re worse than them. You’re worse than Papa.”

“No…”

The child’s eyes were filled with tears now, wrinkling at the edges. “It’s true. You really _are_ a monster.”

“No!”

The girl vanished, body dissolving into nothingness, and the reflection in the glass returned to her own. Hideous, old, dying. Skin sagging, falling from her cheeks. Eyes red and bleeding.

Circe stared, gasping for breath, her body quaking. She reached for her stores, sent everything she had left to change back. Her skin glowed, beginning to heal—then faded again, falling away and looking worse than before.

 _No,_ she thought, panic swelling in her breast. _Why? Why won’t it work?_ She’d taken more men in the last fortnight than all these years combined—why was her magic draining so quickly?!

She turned, leaning her hunched back against the window, fighting the quaking of her legs and the throbbing in her heart. Her vision swam, fading to a memory.

 _“Dark magic always bears a mark, Circe._ _You must stop this, or it will consume you.”_

And, finally, a small part of her mind began to make sense of it all. Began to see herself for what she was.

 _Oh God,_ she thought, gasping for breath, old body quaking where she stood. _I really am a monster._

* * *

Shouts of alarm rang out in the busy square, a hundred villagers running back and forth with arms full of supplies. Children and their caretakers, those too young or weak or old to fight were being packed into every available wagon, the remaining gathering swords and torches in preparation.

At Commander Gilles’ order, the attack was to take place that night—a week sooner than planned. A week that they’d planned to evacuate those most vulnerable in case things went wrong. Now, they had but hours to get them away.

Henri lifted his son into the closet wagon, setting him beside his grandmother. Mrs. Potts wrapped an arm around him, squeezing him tight. A young girl sat on Jack’s other side, trembling and tugging her cloak further around her. Two young women with blond curls sat beside her, whispering frantically to themselves.

“Jack,” the girl whispered.

He turned to her. “Yeah?”

“I’m scared,” she admitted, squeezing her eyes shut. “…Hold my hand?”

Jack looked surprised, but quickly complied. “It’s okay, Nicolette,” he said bravely, squeezing her small fingers. “My Papa’s in charge, and he’ll make sure we win!”

Jack looked back at his father then, hopeful. Henri give him a wink, ruffling his hair, before stepping back out of the wagon and moving towards the front. Sophie was securing two large horses to the wagon. He rested a hand on her shoulder, and she looked back quickly. Her face was full of fear.

“Henri…”

He gathered her small frame in his arms, and she buried herself against him.

“It’s—it’s just happening so fast,” she whispered. “What…what if…”

“I’ll be back for ya,” he promised, holding her tight. “Nothing’s gonna stop me, cause…cause I got somethin’ important to do later. If…you agree.”

He pulled back, reaching a trembling hand for her own. Then he reached into in his pocket, pulled out a small pouch and, swallowing, placed it in her palm.

Sophie stared at him in shock, unaware of the growing chaos around them as a dozen men on horses trotted by. Then she quickly undid the cinch, pulling out the small object inside. A golden ring, hand-forged and carved with small, delicate designs. It had taken Henri several tedious attempts to get right, but it was more than worth it for her.

“Oh…Henri,” Sophie gasped, resting a hand over her heart.

“I was gonna give it to ya in a nicer way,” he said nervously. “But since we’re marching on the castle tonight, well…I couldn’t go without askin’ first.”

Several dozen more men marched past, the skies quickly growing dark. Henri glanced at them, heart racing, then looked back down at her. She stared up at him with those large, dark eyes, gripping the ring in her palm.

He sucked in a breath, leaning close. “Marry me, Soph?”

His whisper was barely audible over the shouts all around. He swallowed again, and before she could reply more words tumbled out. “You’re just, you’re wonderful. A-and you’ve…you’ve made me happy again, when I never thought I would be. And— _damn_ , I didn’t get a chance to practice this—but I love you, and I—”

She was up on her toes, lips connecting quickly with his. An urgent kiss, one that soon settled into something deeper.

“That’s a yes,” she said, pulling away, eyes wrinkled at the corners and bright with joy.

He blinked, then smiled wide, burying his fingers in her curls and kissing her again with passion.

“Oi, Henri, ‘nough foolin’ around!” someone called out. “We gotta go!”

Henri kissed her for a moment longer, and pulled back reluctantly. Then he reached down quickly, slipping the small band over her ring finger. The gold looked perfect against her warm brown fingers, and he gripped them in earnest, chest warm and swelling with happiness.

“Stay safe,” she whispered.

“And you.” He glanced back towards those waiting in the wagon, towards his young son and the older woman who’d raised him. “And—”

“I’ll keep them safe too,” Sophie promised.

He helped her into the driver’s seat, watching with a heart somehow light and heavy all at once as she urged the horses into a run down the road. Dozens more wagons followed, carrying all they loved towards safety.

Turning, Henri sucked in a breath and faced those that remained. A young man brought him a horse—the large black stallion that was Jack’s. The boy had insisted his father take him today.

“All right, Maggy,” Henri said, mounting with a leap of energy and settling into the saddle. “You ready?”

The horse huffed, pawing a hoof against the old cobblestone road. Giving him a gentle kick, Henri moved towards the front of the crowd that waited for him.

He looked them over. They had come from across the countryside, hundreds of them, a fire in their eyes far brighter than the torches held aloft in the young night air. It was a sight Henri had yearned for years ago—back when he’d been the only one brave enough to venture into those dark woods. The only one who dared go against Victor’s orders to stay away.

And now, finally, others had come to his aid. Not to rescue a son this time, but to make sure that son stayed safe. To make sure every son and daughter in their kingdom stayed safe.

A group of familiar faces stood near the front of the crowd, mounted atop their own steeds. That gang of men from Beaumont—once lazy and indolent, they now waited in earnest for his orders. No longer taunting him for his stubborn loyalty, but joining him. The man Émile, at one time the worst of them all, now nodded at him with a fierce determination in his eyes.

Henri sucked in a breath. “Grab your torch!” he cried.

The crowd thrust forth a hundred hands, bearing a hundred fires. “Aye!” they shouted. 

“Mount your horse!” Henri bellowed, urging his own across the front line.

“AYE!” Hundreds of sharp horseshoes padded along the road.

“Victor has wreaked havoc on our villages!” Henri bellowed, voice carried in the wind, heart wild with conviction. “Too long we’ve let him wander free!”

The cheers erupted again, ear-splitting this time. Energy swelled through the crowd, dense and palatable. Henri stopped Maggy, turning him towards the road ahead. “It's time to take some action, boys,” he rasped darkly.

_Finally time._

* * *

Adam stood, waiting while the mirror he’d once kept it his room grew tall enough to reflect his entire frame, and wide enough to include his father and mother to his left, and Belle to his right. Their images soon disappeared, revealing every citizen they’d recruited over the past weeks, a massive force of torches and swords and shouts. Agathe pulled her hand back, turning and giving him a wink.

“They can see me?” Alexandre asked her.

“They can,” she nodded, and stepped away.

Adam’s father stepped forward, and spoke to the crowds through the glowing mirror. His voice was strong and confident, and soon had the men beyond cheering with gusto.

Adam gripped the small parchment in his hand tighter, waiting his turn. His father stepped back too soon and, swallowing, Adam took his place. He stared at the crowds—they seemed so close, though he knew them to be miles off. So close, and so anxious to hear his words.

And, after a moment, he tossed the parchment aside. The scripted words had served him well in his speeches across the countryside, but they seemed far too formal for this moment.

“No doubt you see me as a stranger,” he started. He swallowed, glancing at his feet. “And I admit, I still know little of you. For a decade I could do nothing, nothing but fear for you. Nothing but watch and know I could do nothing to help.”

The crowd grew still, their rustling energy from before dissolving into a thoughtful silence. Sucking in a breath, Adam looked up again. “Yet while I was imprisoned, I never forgot you,” he said firmly. “So if we’re strangers now, I hope to be friends. For you are my own, and I am a part of you.”

For a heartbeat, his people remained quiet. Then, in an instant, cheers—building and sweeping over the vast crowd.

“There’s a fire in my heart,” Adam proclaimed, gaining confidence. “As long as I can do something, I will! I’ll—” He paused, heart pounding. “I’ll do whatever it takes to make things right!”

As the cheers swelled, Adam turned back to Belle and reached for her hand, guiding her to his side.

“I don’t believe fame or nobility are required for greatness,” he said, watching her for a moment before turning back to his audience. “I see greatness in each of you. I saw it in the woman who saved me from a ten year prison. She came from among you, and is the reason I stand before you today. She’s the reason we have a chance.”

Their cries of support grew in volume, and Belle flushed.

“Tell them,” Adam whispered, leaning close and squeezing her hand. “You can do this.”

She nodded nervously, sucking in a breath of her own and stepping forward. “I-I’m…I’m honored to be here,” she began, gaining her voice. “A-and I just want to say…you are all my friends.”

At the word, something shifted in the image before them. A wave of golden light, it seemed, passing over the vast crowds. The effect of Belle’s statement, a shield for their supporters from any harm Circe might wish them. 

Belle noticed it too, and relaxed. “So have courage, my friends,” she went, her own sureness having grown at the declaration’s success. “We will meet you again in a free kingdom!”

The cheers grew into a cacophony of hoots, of applause and heavy stomping against the earth. Agathe touched the mirror again, and the image returned to their own, their cheers fading into silence. Sighing, Adam turned to Belle.

She smiled at him. “They’re safe from her, now,” she said. “Let’s go.”

* * *

Victor groaned. He opened his eyes, squinting even in the dim light, the ceiling above him spinning. “Too much wine,” he grumbled to himself, rolling to his side and hoisting himself to his knees. He sucked in a rough breath, and looked up.

Bodies, the room filled with them. Those of his highest-ranking men, their blood half dried against the rug.

He scrambled back, gasping, eyes searching the room in a panic. “Guards!” he barked in fear, voice high and frightened. Nothing but the sound of a distant shouts replied, and no one came.

Shaking, he forced himself to his feet, cringing at the scent of death that filled the room. He swallowed, trying to wrack his mind for what had happened here—what he couldn’t remember. Why had he been spared?

He shook his head—what did it matter? At least he _had_ been spared. He stepped around the bodies of his men, plugging his nose at the sight of them. What a mess.

“King Victor!”

He turned, watching a junior officer stumble into the room. The boy’s eyes grew wide at the sight, stopping mid-thought before shaking his head and going on. “The—the castle is under attack!” he gasped.

“Obviously!” Victor snapped, motioning at the dead men around them. “Where are my guards?!”

“They’re—they’re—”

The distant shouts grew louder. Angry, chaotic, leaking in from the room’s grand balcony. Victor frowned, moving towards the noise, fumbling with the lock and shoving open the grand glass doors. He moved to the balcony’s ledge, staring down at the gates far below, the forest just beyond.

Small fires spotted the trees. Shadows, swelling along the path, attached to those violent cries. To the sounds of heavy hooves and angry men.

“Who dares…?” he breathed darkly.

“A-a mob, Your Majesty,” the young man stammered from behind him. “Men from the local villages.”

Victor huffed. “I know that!” he said. God, this boy was dense.

The soldier seemed too frightened to even react to his king’s irritation. Instead, his eyes wandered across the bodies on the ground, then out towards the trees. “What should we do?” he whispered.

“Ask your commander, lieutenant!” Victor barked.

The soldier was quiet for a long moment. “I…I’m the highest ranked man left, m-my king.”

Victor froze, finally turning back to face him. “What?” he breathed in disbelief. He bristled in irritation. “That’s preposterous! I brought a full battalion here—where are they?!”

“I-immobilized, my lord,” the young lieutenant replied quietly. “Or…or dead. ‘Tis a demon lurking these halls, Your Majesty.”

And suddenly, a faint memory flashed in Victor’s mind. A beautiful woman, bright scarlet eyes, a hand on his throat…a delicious yet excruciating kiss.

Beads of sweat formed on his brow. _I have to get out of here._

He looked back at the soldier, still awaiting his command. “Well—take the rest of the men, and fight them off!” he ordered.

The lieutenant paled. “But Y-Your Majesty,” he said. “They outnumber us. I…I don’t think we can—”

“You will head down and defend your _king,”_ Victor snarled, moving towards him in fury. He was taller than the young man, and the boy cowered beneath him as he grabbed his vest with a rough hand. “Either you do so,” he said darkly, “or I’ll have your head and the heads of everyone you love. Do you hear me?”

The boy’s eyes grew wide in fear, but he nodded. And without another word, he escaped back into the hall.

Victor watched him go. No doubt he was sending the man to his death—though of course, he didn’t care. He just needed enough time to get away from this place.

Someone cleared their throat. Victor started, turning to see a figure in the shadows.

“Ah, it seems I’m free again,” they said. That servant, Lumiere, stood from where he sat, stretching and sauntering towards Victor with a lazy stride.

Victor frowned at him.

Lumiere leaned against the large bookcase against the far wall, examining a nail. “It’s a shame there’s no way to escape from this room…” he said casually. “That would be quite convenient, no?”

Victor blinked. He recalled his youth, of tunnels and secret passages hidden in the depths of the earth. His eyes flashed to the bookcase again, and he grinned.

“Bring a light,” he ordered Lumiere. “We’re leaving.”

* * *

“Ya sure King Alexandre’s all right with us…ya know—”

_BANG!_

“…breakin’ down his front door?”

“Yep,” Henri told the man, his companion as they and a dozen others rammed a heavy tree trunk against the front doors of the palace.

_BANG!_

“All part of the plan,” Henri assured him.

One more hit, and the doors came crashing down. His men flooded inside, shouting fiercely and sliding their weapons from their belts. They were playing the part of an angry mob quite well—though Henri sensed most of it wasn’t an act at all.

The entryway was pitch black—strange, since the castle was supposedly occupied. They moved slowly into the darkness, torches held high. Their boot falls rang loudly off the marble floor, echoing against the ceilings high above.

“St-stop!”

Henri turned, his men already surrounding the source of the shout. He pushed his way through quickly, a young lieutenant in the center and no more than a half troop’s worth of men cowering behind him.

The leading soldier held a spear aloft, its tip shaking. He swallowed, but went on. “B-by the order of King Victor we—we demand that you stand down!”

A number of Henri’s men laughed at that. They had the poor chap surrounded three to one, after all. “Look, we don’t want to hurt ya,” Henri started. “King Alexandre is willing to work with those who wish to join us.”

The young lieutenant blinked, his spear growing loose in his palms. “King…Alexandre?”

“Aye,” Henri nodded. “He led us here himself. What do you say, then?”

The soldier looked nervous, glancing behind him at those he led. Most were young, like him, or else very old. And by the looks on their faces, these seemed to be some of the least loyal of Victor’s soldiers.

“Our families,” a rough voice said. An older soldier, stepping past the young lieutenant and planting his own spear into the ground. “Victor threatened them,” he said gruffly. “A slew of soldiers deserted within Victor’s first year of power, so he slaughtered their families to convince the rest of us to stay.”

Several of Henri’s men cursed, lowering their own weapons. Henri tucked his own sword back in his belt. “They’ll be safe,” he promised. “By dawn, Victor will be in custody and the true king on the throne once again.”

The man narrowed his eyes. Yet after a moment, he nodded. The rest of those behind relaxed, and Henri even caught a few smiles painting their faces.

“Where are the rest of your men?” Henri asked.

“This…this is all of us,” the young lieutenant replied, looking a bit abashed.

“He’s _lying,”_ someone in the mob barked. “There’s got to be more of ‘em!”

Henri furrowed his brows. With so few soldiers left, it would make little sense to split up. He sensed the man was telling the truth.

Yet at the thought, he finally heard what they’d been searching for before. Footfalls, hundreds of them, thundering from the halls above.

“The demons!” one of Victor’s soldiers cried. Many more of them cried out, some gripping their weapons once again while the others crouched in fear.

Henri frowned. There should only be one enchantress lurking these halls, not a full, heavy-footed troop’s worth. He looked up towards the balconies above.

And he saw them. Enormous beings in the shadows, marching in an unnatural, uniform pattern.

“Who are they?” Émile whispered from behind him.

“Don’t know,” Henri said. He gripped his sword once again. “But it looks like our king still needs us.”

* * *

The old passage was cold, damp, and much longer than he remembered. Victor stopped, leaning against one stone wall, trying to catch his breath. Damn, but he hadn’t walked so far in ten years.

“Do you need a moment, my lord?” Lumiere asked. His voice hinted at amusement. “No doubt an arduous quarter hour of walking is having its toll on your knees.”

Victor scowled. “Do not mock me, servant. I—I could send you back to face the mob if I wished!”

“A threat?” Lumiere said, raising a brow. “To the only one left to protect your fat arse?”

Victor bristled, whipping back to face him. “Why, you smug son of a bitch!” he growled. He stopped, still short of breath, face growing red with anger. “I’ll—I’ll have…your head for this, you…you worthless bast—”

New light entered the narrow tunnel. Victor stopped short, watching as several shadows grew along the wall.

“Who’s…who’s there?” Victor asked, pushing back from the wall and staring at the approaching figures in fear. “Who are you?!”

The closest figure moved into the light of Lumiere’s candelabra. He walked with a slight limp, a cane in one hand, his form leaner than Victor remembered. Yet he still recognized him with a perfect, terrifying certainty.

“Hello, brother,” the man said quietly.

Victor stared at him, mouth growing dry. It couldn’t be.

The man nodded, more men emerging from behind him. Stumbling back, Victor pushed Lumiere aside and scrambled back the way they’d come. He was overtaken quickly, however, rough hands grabbing him and forcing him to his knees.

“Oh, Victor,” the man with the limp said, approaching slowly and cocking his head. “You might be a scoundrel, but at least you’re a predictable one.”

“…Alexandre?” Victor finally managed. “Y-you’re…you’re supposed to be dead!”

“Yes, I suppose I am,” Alexandre shrugged, leaning on his cane and looking him over. “Good lord, you’ve certainly let yourself go.”

“Sh—shut up!” Victor snapped, but stopped as more men emerged from the darkness, standing behind Alexandre. A smaller figure moved to his side, blue eyes bright in the shadows.

“J-Jacqueline?” Victor stammered. “No, this—this isn’t real! You’re nothing but ghosts, spirits come to torment me!”

“I assure you we are quite alive,” the queen said plainly. She narrowed her eyes. “Though we have no opposition to providing the requisite torment.”

Victor’s heart hammered in his chest. He struggled against the men around him, but they only held him tighter, faces speckled with amusement. Beside them, Lumiere looked the most amused of all, snickering quietly to himself.

 _Traitor!_ Victor realized furiously.

Alexandre stepped foward. “Adam informed us of how you cared for him when we were gone,” he said casually.

“But that’s not quite right, is it?” Jacqueline said, touching his arm. She, too, seemed strangely amused.

“Ah, you are right, my dear,” Alexandre agreed. He turned back to his brother, growing somber. “You tried to _murder him.”_

Victor gasped. “Adam’s still alive?” he said in shock. Then, realizing his slip, he backtracked. “I-I mean that—that was just a misunderstanding,” he said quickly. “I was only, um, only joking with the boy!”

“I’m sure.” Alexandre stepped closer, fiddling with the blade’s handle at his belt. “Now, what to do with you…” he mused.

“What was it that Locke proposed, my dear?” Jacqueline asked, a wicked gleam in her eye. “Did he not advocate that a true ruler abide by the will of his people?”

“Indeed,” Alexandre agreed. “Perhaps we can let our people decide what to do with him.” He paused, staring down into Victor’s eyes. “It was them you offended, no? Them you taxed, them you imprisoned.” He paused, eyes growing dark, leaning close. “Their daughters you stole and abused.”

Victor swallowed roughly.

Alexandre narrowed his eyes. “I’m sure plenty of them would _love_ to have a say in your punishment.”

Victor grew pale as a sheet, eyes wide in horror.

“Yes,” Alexandre went on, pulling back. He nodded towards his men, and they dragged Victor to his feet. “That seems the best solution indeed.”

* * *

The climb was steep here. An older tunnel, abandoned long ago after a collapse but apparently restored during those months Adam had been lost in a jump through time. Beside him, Belle held a small map drawn in her own hand, examining it in the dim light of the lanterns held by Gilles’ elite force assigned to accompany them.

Adam stared at the detailed cartography, though his mind dwelled on his parents, wondering if they’d been successful in their own task, thinking back to their departure not an hour ago.

_Adam held the small woman tight. “Stay safe, Maman,” he whispered._

_“And you, my darling,” she said. “Oh, I wish we didn’t have to part here.”_

_“Papa’s in no shape to keep up with us.” Adam finally pulled back, looking over towards his father who was conversing quietly with Gilles. In truth, the king had grown so emaciated in his time in Circe’s dungeon that full control of one leg hadn’t returned. Adam still wasn’t used to seeing him with a limp. He looked back at his mother. “You’re right to stay with him,” he told her._

_“You don’t have to face her, you know,” Jacqueline went on, bushing a few strands of hair from his face that had fallen loose. “You could stay come with us instead, let Agathe and Gilles’ men take her down alone.”_

_Adam frowned, looking at his feet for a moment. “I need to do this, Maman,” he said at last. “I don’t know why. I guess I just need…”_

_“Closure?” she asked._

_“Perhaps.”_

_Sighing, she nodded, letting him go as Alexandre approached. He wrapped his free arm around his son, squeezing tight._

_Beside them, Belle finally pulled back from a long embrace with her own father. “Your mother was fearless,” Maurice told her, holding her shoulders and staring her straight in the eyes. “And so are you. She would be so proud.”_

_Belle nodded, looking teary, and hugged him once more before pulling back and looking towards the ground. “Stay and protect Papa, all right Max?”_

_The large grey mutt gave a short bark, circling Maurice quickly before settling back on his haunches at attention. Maurice would be staying in the bunker tonight to maintain the pulley-system elevator—at least, that was the public reason. In truth, his fits wouldn’t allow him to engage in any kind of direct battle._

_Adam embraced Maurice then, and his parents Belle, before the group split—Maurice to head back to the safety of the bunker; his parents and a group of soldiers continuing down the wide tunnel before them; Belle, Adam, Gilles, and Agathe towards a second, smaller tunnel that forked off of the main path and climbed sharply towards the surface._

“You young people sure are slow!”

Adam looked up, broken from his thoughts. The voice was Agathe’s, ringing from her mirror at Gilles’ belt.

“It’s steeper than it looks!” one of Gilles’ soldiers said in exacerbation. “Might not be so hard if I got a ride up too,” he grumbled.

Agathe just chuckled.

“We’ve gone about two thousand paces,” Gilles said, ignoring them. “Belle?”

Belle pulled out a small ruler from her pocket. Adam turned, crouching and letting her place the map flat against his back to make a quick measurement. “I believe we’re nearly there, then,” she said. “There should be a bend just ahead, then the stairs.”

True to her word, a set of old, crumbling steps soon appeared. The stairway was narrow, just wide enough for them to ascend single-file, but they soon reached a wide platform at the top. A tall, square door sat in the wall, several feet off the ground, marking their destination.

Adam approached it, placing a hand on its surface. It was made of wood, old and rough. He brushed his fingers along the surface, finding a small lever near the side. He lifted it loose, then pulled away, skin now stuck with splinters.

“My prince,” Gilles said quietly, stepping to his side. “When the time comes, I will complete the task.”

“The task?”

Gilles’ eyes grew dark. “A man who has killed is never the same,” he said. “Even when done for a just cause. I would not have you stain your hands needlessly.”

Adam blinked. “I—” He stopped. How had Gilles known? Were his worries so obvious?

And it was then he realized his free hand was gripping the hilt of his sword yet again. Trembling. He pursed his lips, forcing his fingers to loosen. “Gilles…you don’t have to—”

“It was a not a request, my lord,” Gilles said firmly. “Face her if you must, but I will put an end to that monster. It will not damage me as it would you.”

“I…” Adam trailed off—for in truth, Gilles’ offer was one he truly wished for. He nodded slowly. “…All right.” And with that, he pushed against the passage exit. It stuck for a moment, then flew open at the force.

And what lie behind was not at all what they’d been expecting.

Adam gazed into the dark hall, into what was _supposed_ to be the far stretches of the West Wing. It has always been somewhat shadowy and abandoned, but it now looked completely foreign to him. The wallpaper was dirty, peeling along the edges in places and barely clinging to the walls in others. Moth-eaten curtains shaded black-tinted window panes, revealing the rain beginning to fall against the dark sky. The large, cream pillars lining the hall were now grey and crumbling, threatening to topple over at any moment, and what had once been beautiful Romanesque statues on display were now hideous, snarling creatures. The only thing that hadn’t changed were the large murals along the walls—but even the faces in these seemed far more menacing than before.

Belle had stepped through the passage, stopping on the now-blackened rug beneath their feet and staring at the scene in shock. She looked back at Adam then, eyes quaking. “What _is_ this place?” she whispered.

Behind them, the rest of Gilles’ unit followed through the secret passage, which was in fact one of the large gallery frames swung open by several hinges. The last man shut the private passage again, revealing a large family portrait behind. It was torn to shreds.

“She’s losing control,” Agathe said quietly. The mirror at Gilles’ belt shimmered for a moment, and the old enchantress appeared at their sides in human form. She looked around the space, frowning. “She can no longer contain it.”

“Contain what?” Adam asked, nervous.

“The darkness inside her.”

They moved slowly through the passage. Soon the gazes from the portraits vanished, torn through by rough claws that had dug into their canvas surfaces and across the walls connecting each frame. A jagged line, weaving through the darkness, broken only where a chair or table separated them. The latter sat in pieces along the floor, nothing spared by whatever creature had unleashed its fury on these halls.

“My lord,” Gilles started. He raised a hand, resting it on Adam’s shoulder and speaking quietly. “I hate to ask, but you didn’t…?”

“No,” Adam said. “This wasn’t me.”

Belle moved bravely alongside him, but Adam felt her hand tuck itself tight in his. He held it back, heart racing with a strange new fear. One he hadn’t let himself feel until now.

“Belle,” he whispered. “Maybe you should go back—”

She shook her head quickly. “She can scare us all she wants,” she said. “But she can’t hurt us, remember?”

They followed the destruction, out of the West Wing and towards one of a dozen open landings that overlooked the Hall of Arms deep in the darkness below. Here, too, the place had grown dusty and dilapidated—as though abandoned for several decades, not just the months it had been.

The soldiers followed them at either side, holding out flames that cast deep shadows along the walls. How strange it was to wander the halls of his home in such a state of disrepair, abandoned without even a candle left to light their path. In truth, it didn’t feel like home at all anymore.

The shadows changed then, and the group froze. A dozen forms lie on the carpet just ahead, unmoving in the darkness. Belle gasped quietly at his side.

 _Bodies,_ Adam realized, mouth growing dry. “Don’t look,” he told her.

One of their men stepped forward bravely, thrusting his lantern towards the scene before them. Not just bodies—but bodies sitting in blood, dried in long tendrils against the carpet. Chests as empty as their eyes. Adam tried to swallow, failing. These may have been Victor’s men, but even the worst criminal would never have received such a punishment from his father.

“This is Circe’s work, all right,” Agathe said, solemn, moving beside them. “A desperate attempt to hold onto her power.”

“It’s just like she told me,” Belle whispered. Her eyes were wide and round, having clearly not heeded Adam’s warning. Belatedly, she squeezed them shut, burying her face against his sleeve.

_“Consumed by the creature inside, he thrust his claws into her bosom and took the promised heart.”_

Adam recalled the story Gilles had related to him, the one told to Belle in the old storyteller’s stolen form. This part had certainly proved true. Did that mean…

“ _Then, crouching in the darkness, and the shadows…he feasted.”_

Had their hearts really served such a purpose? Adam shuddered, reaching his arm around Belle’s shoulder and trying to focus on the warmth of her frame instead of the cold eyes along the floor ahead of them. He should have been better prepared. He should have expected something like this.

 _She can’t hurt us,_ he reminded himself. _She **can’t** — _

A sharp gust of wind. Cold, like ice, dosing the torches all around and plunging them in darkness. Adam spun around, moving in front of Belle, hand snapping to his waist and ripping the weapon from his belt. He heard a dozen more swords coming free as Gilles’ men did the same. His eyes strained open, searching the darkness.

A terrified shout from their ranks. A scuffle, the sound of a weapon surrendered to the floor and a chocking gasp. The men around them began crying out in panic.

“Hold your positions!” Gilles barked.

Adam felt Belle’s fingers grip the back of his shirt, trembling. Or was he the one trembling? He couldn’t tell. He moved his other hand to the blade to steady it.

Something began to glow. Agathe, her hands returning light to the space. And where that light fell—

Behind him, Belle gasped. A soldier near the edge of their party was in the air, feet dangling, hanging by some invisible force. But as the light spread it became clear that something held him there, its hunched form casting ragged shadows against the wall. The intruder made a sound—a snarl, bringing the man close to its large, cloaked face. But at the motion, a spark of light flew between them. The man was released, falling back to his feet, momentarily dazed before grabbing his sword once again and scrambling to his feet.

The attacker had already moved on, weaving among their ranks, darting between the men so quickly that it was impossible make out what was happening. The men shouted in alarm as long, clawed fingers shot towards throats and limbs, but each of the intruder’s attempts resulted in yet another spark of light. It shrieked in fury with each failed attempt, its movements growing ever more wild and erratic.

At last it broke free of them, moving deep into the hallway ahead. And as suddenly as it had appeared, it stopped, still as stone in the shadows.

Rain had begun to fall outside, hammering against the roof above. A bolt of lightning filled the hall with a sudden, bluish light. The cloaked figure stood before them, now illuminated under the dancing shadows of rain. And, slowly, it turned back to face them.

Beside him, Belle pressed a hand to her mouth. Adam only stared, breathless and unblinking.

_Good God._

The figure breathed heavily, its large, arched back rising high in the air before falling again. Pale hair fell in snarled patches from beneath its hood, tearing through the cloak along its shoulders and back, dragging across the floor alongside tattered robes. Its hands brushed the floor where it crouched; thick, dark nails scratched absently against the carpet. Fangs emerged from the hooded face, dripping with blood.

Thunder roared. The lightning faded. And two round, glowing orbs blinked open from the darkness.

“Ah,” Gilles said, stepping forward and holding his sword to one side. He ducked his head, staring her straight on. “There you are, creature.”

She hissed, turning those terrifying eyes on the tiny old enchantress who stood near his side. They seemed to grow fearful at the sight.

“Hello again, my apprentice,” Agathe said evenly. Adam had never seen her look so solemn.

The creature’s breath grew heavy, and her eyes scanned the rest of them. They froze after a moment, latching onto Adam from the darkness. “You?” she asked, voice deep and grating. Inhuman. Yet at the same time, it quaked with an uncertainty Adam had never heard before.

Adam stared at those eyes. No whites remained, only enormous sockets of bright scarlet. He clenched his fists, ignoring how damp his palms had grown.

“Circe,” he said flatly.

The strange eyes grew wide. Though instead of seeming surprised, or even angry, that he’d escaped her spell and her prison, she seemed…sorrowful?

Adam frowned at the thought. _No. She doesn’t know sorrow. Only hate._

Circe sucked in another breath, shallow and weak. She moved forward. “I—”

She stopped short, for Gilles had wasted no time in charging her with a speed a man his age shouldn’t have possessed. His sword flew forward, aiming straight for her heart. From behind, Agathe cast forth both short arms as her fingers filled with light.

But before either could strike, Circe vanished.

Gilles swung anyway, hitting nothing but empty air. Stopping in place, he looked around in vain. “Find her!” he shouted, turning back to his men. “Don’t let her escape!”

As soon as he said it, however, Circe’s voice echoed through the large, empty halls. Adam strained his ears at the sound, not recognizing the words.

“Prussian,” Gilles observed, frowning deeply and huffing in frustration.

Agathe nodded beside him. “She calls for aid.”

Circe’s echoes faded into silence and then—footfalls, heavy ones, thundering from the floors high above them. Gilles’ soldiers surrounded Adam and Belle without prompting, facing spears and blades into the darkness towards whatever was coming. The stomping was unnaturally heavy, and seemed to come from all directions, until finally dozens of massive figures appeared from each end of the hall.

 _“Ugh,”_ Adam groaned, shoulders drooping. “Not these guys again.”

Men as tall as the ceiling stood before them. _Potsdam’s Giants,_ Adam recalled, the same Circe had set on him that fated night in the woods. It seemed an entire troop of them had filled the wide, open halls, not only standing both before and behind them, but lining the floors above as well. Adam stared up at the giant men, frowning. He wasn’t used to feeling so small.

“Can _they_ hurt us?” one of Gilles’ men asked nervously, his spear quaking slightly in his hands.

“Not if they’re under Circe’s power,” Belle replied, though she pursed her lips as though not quite sure of her answer.

Adam looked back at the enormous men. Like before, their eyes were blank and lifeless, each with a single rose in tucked into his vest. Though the flowers seemed slightly wilted now.

Beside him, Agathe appeared oddly cheerful, beginning to roll up each sleeve. “Oh ho ho! This should be fun,” she grinned.

A loud clang, and Adam looked up, realizing someone was already engaging them. Gilles, having pulled a second blade from his belt, now fought off the closest dozen giants with the same calm demeanor he held during a friendly duel. Spears shot towards him from their ranks, each only just missing him.

Belle gasped. “Gilles, be careful!” she cried.

But the giants’ weapons never struck flesh, only bouncing back in flashes of light. Gilles had managed to disarm those he’d engaged, but more quickly filled in their ranks. He frowned, pulling back and watching curiously as the giants formed a fresh wall to block their way. “Damn,” he huffed, wiping his sleeve against his brow. “It’s true they can’t hurt us, but they can still block our way. We’ll have to—”

“Now, hold on,” Agathe said, stepping forward and waving him aside. “Let me have a crack at ‘em!”

Her hands began to grow bright, and in a moment she’d cast them forward. A sharp gust of wind flew through the lines of men, ruffling their coats and hair. Yet it died down quickly, and they remained as fixed in place as before.

Agathe blinked, then pouted, saying something under her breath in a tongue Adam had never heard before. Though from the sound of it, he was fairly certain it was a curse. “I’ve forgotten my own teachings,” she admitted, turning back to them and raising a finger. _“Once a spell is cast, it cannot be interfered with.”_

“We fight through, then,” Gilles directed, unfazed. He turned to his men. “They hold no threat to you, but reserve your strength. This will be no short-lived task.”

As the soldiers pulled forth their weapons, Adam sensed Belle shift beside him. “Wait,” she said, and the others paused in their tasks. “Circe’s spell uses the roses, doesn’t it?” she wondered. “If we can just get rid of them, won’t that stop it?”

“Ah,” Agathe said, tapping the end of her nose. “The best answer is often the simplest. Yes! I believe it may be so easily done.”

“We may still have to fight them to do so,” Gilles said. “I don’t think they’ll let us pluck their roses away easily.”

Adam’s mind had drifted. He saw a glowing rose, sitting in the air beneath of shield of glass, living for years before finally beginning its decay. He remembered staring at it times, watching the small beads of dew form against its petals—

He blinked, turning back towards those now moving into formation against the giants. “They need water,” he gasped. The others turned back to him, confused. “The roses, they—they must be taking water from the air,” he went on, but quickly stopped. “But I don’t know what we could do about that.”

“Oh! These children are wise,” Agathe said. She raised her hands once again, and grinned. “There is indeed something we can do about that.”

She closed her eyes, and everyone waited. Nothing seemed to happen at first, but then—

Adam’s throat grew dry in an instant. He struggled to swallow, the air suddenly devoid of the moisture it once held. And then he noticed it—damp beneath his boots, small pools of water forming across the carpet from the water that had only moments before hovered invisible in the air.

Agathe lowered her arms, and Adam looked up at the giants once more. Their roses had lost their bright color, sagging against their chests, petals shriveling in place. And the life that had once filled the flowers now took root back in the eyes of the small army of men.

“Stand down,” Gilles told his men, holding a hand out to stop their approach. “These men are our allies; it took much bloodshed to make it so. I will speak with them.”

He moved before the tallest of the group then, who wore several bright pendants indicating his high rank. Gilles spoke in the man’s foreign tongue, standing tall and calm as he no doubt attempted to explain the situation.

The Prussian commander looked bewildered for several long moments, but was soon nodding slowly as Gilles explained. The men around him were murmuring, restless, yet word was soon traveling through their ranks.

Adam sighed. _Good,_ he thought. _Now we can—_

A shout, and the crowd of men shifted as an older soldier pushed his way forward. He broke through, pointing an angry finger at Gilles, face beat red and eyes wild with fury.

“What’s he saying?” Belle whispered anxiously.

Gilles had his hands raised before him, speaking carefully and no doubt trying to talk the man down. The others around started to frown, staring at Gilles with a sudden distrust.

“Agathe,” Belle went on. “What’s going on—”

The man who’d stepped forward had pulled the musket from his shoulder, swinging it up and thrusting the sharp baronet right where Gilles stood.

Belle’s scream hung in the air, along with the cries of their men. Yet just before the weapon struck, it froze in place. And the man who held it vanished.

Agathe was scowling, dropping her hands and sighing as she finished the spell. The long musket fell to the floor, rolling back and forth as though possessed. Indeed, it now held the man who’d tried to attack their commander.

The remaining giant men stared at the trembling weapon, eyes growing wide. Their leader now pulled his own weapon from this back, pointing it forward and shouting fearfully. Gilles was speaking frantically now, backing away slowly as he did. The foreign soldiers only grew more and more restless, their own shouts filling the hall as a wave of weapons were loosed and they began closing in on them from all sides of the hall.

Gilles cursed, drawing his own weapons again and turning back to the rest of them. “He recognized me. From the war, over forty years ago. Apparently my unit killed his brother.” He turned back to face the angry men, huffing in frustration. “It seems we will be fighting them after all,” he went on. “And now they _can_ hurt us.”

And in an instance, chaos. Gilles’ men circled Adam and Belle at once, forming a wall of protection as dozens of men the height of ceilings charged at them.

The first wave of them vanished, one by one, sucked inside guns and spears and jackets, falling to the ground at their feet. Agathe was only getting started, it seemed. Yet the spell only seemed to incite the rest of them further, and a wave of twice as many charged forward. Agathe couldn’t stop them all at once, however, and soon Gilles’ soldiers were forced to engage them. They took the giants on two at a time, shouting, stabbing, darting sideways to avoid the jagged bayonets that threatened to sink into their flesh.

Belle gasped. Adam spun around, pulling her behind him, barely raising his sword in time to stop the heavy musket threatening to cut them down. The man had broken through their ranks, eyes wild as he pulled back to strike again.

Adam reacted faster, burying his own blade in the man’s bicep. He screamed in pain, and Adam yanked his weapon away, watching in triumph as the man hobbled backwards and grasped at his arm.

“Adam!”

He turned back, barely reacting in time as another musket barreled down towards them. This man was even larger and stronger than the last, and Adam’s arms shook as he tried to push back.

But then this man too cried out, pulling away. Confused, Adam looked him over. A large gash stood bright against that soldier’s thigh, and he soon stumbled to this knees. Beside him, Belle’s shorter blade shone the same bright red as she gripped it between her hands. She breathed heavily, looking up at Adam with wide eyes.

He blinked in shock. “Thanks—”

Belle gasped again, looking past him. Adam barely registered the presence of another man towering over him when Belle stepped forward. And before he could even react, she had pulled a fist to her opposite shoulder before throwing all her might—and elbow—straight towards the place housing the man’s family jewels.

The giant soldier stopped mid motion, sword frozen in place above his head. Gasping, his face grew pale and wracked with agony. The sword slipped from his hands, which flew immediately to the space between his legs. He fell promptly to his knees, then the floor, twitching.

Belle watched him, blinking slowly, as if shocked she alone had managed to reduce the man to such a state. Then she looked up at Adam, face alight with victory.

Adam grinned at her. He opened his mouth to speak again, but a new sound filled his ears.

The click of a musket.

Time seemed to stop as he looked up slowly. One of the giant soldiers held his weapon, loaded, slowly lowering it until the barrel was aimed straight for them.

_No._

His fingers were already at the trigger. Adam’s heart beat once, his arms heavy as they tried to push Belle away.

A click, and a boom.

Adam grimaced, but no pain came. He opened his eyes. A figure stood before them, blood now pooling at the back of his coat where he’d taken the bullet. He stood tall in the shadows, gold gleaming from each ear. Then, slowly, he dropped the two swords in his hands and fell to his knees.

_No._

One of their own soldiers quickly cut down the gun bearer, staring over in shock as his commander fell from his knees to the floor. Belle had rushed forward, crying out in anguish, trying desperately to roll the injured man over.

Adam’s feet moved on their own, his mind a blur as he helped her pull the man over and into his lap. He knew who it was, but seeing his face made it all the worse. And, finally, he found his voice.

“No!”

* * *

_“You know, sir, I think your talents are being wasted here.”_

_Gilles ignored the man, not slowing his pace through the war-beaten camp. It had been five years—five years of fighting. Five years without **him.** The fighting had ended, but he had yet to see an end to the loneliness._

_Gilles stopped at the camp’s edge then, where the ground dropped off sharply and overlooked the valley below. He stared ahead, seeing no beauty in the land beneath him. His eyes had lost a bit of their bright, youthful vibrancy, the once bright green now a lifeless grey._

He wouldn’t want you to be like this.

_He sighed, looking back to the man who’d spoken before. The recruiter was flat-footed, about his age but obviously unsuited for battle, and had just barely managed to catch up at this moment. He sucked in a couple breaths, hands resting on his knees briefly before continuing on. “Yes yes, we could use someone like you commanding the royal guard,” he said, wiping the sweat from his brow and straightening again. He pulled a small watch from his vest, checking the time absently before pocketing it again._

_Gilles sighed, finally turning to face the man. “Who will protect these people?” he asked seriously. He looked back over the valley where they stood. It showed signs of their struggle—half-constructed war camps, fields trampled under troops of heavy boots. Yet it also showed life, speckled with newly-built homes where residents could finally live in peace. “I sacrificed everything for them,” Gilles went on, heart burning in his chest. “Everything.”_

_“You will protect our king,” the man offered, raising a finger. “And he protects them all.”_

_Gilles frowned, but remained silent._

_“Perhaps a visit?” the man prodded. “See what life at the palace is like?”_

_“…Perhaps.”_

_Another month and he found himself deep in the northern woods, staring up at towering turrets amid a large, lush garden. The recruiter who’d come for him called himself Cogsworth, and stood with him now. “Yes! A spectacular fortress, is it not?” he asked eagerly._

_Gilles hummed. It was spectacular, no doubt. But its splendor could not convince him those who dwelled within were worth protecting._

_Footsteps on the cobblestone. Gilles turned, seeing a tall man in elaborate robes sweeping past the rose bushes. Beside him, Cogsworth’s demeanor changed instantly. Where high-spiritedness once dwelled now rested fear. He appeared to be forcing himself not to turn on his heel and sprint off._

_Gilles just watched the newcomer, curious. “The king?” he wondered._

_Cogsworth nodded, swallowing, looking as though he wished to be much smaller than he was in that moment._

_A boy approached then, perhaps ten years old. He ran to the king’s side, breathless despite the grin on his face. In his hand was a bushel of some kind of violet flower with tube-like stems._

_“And who is that?” Gilles asked._

_“That—that is our prince, sir,” Cogsworth said quietly. “Prince Alexandre.”_

_“Papa,” the prince said then. He reached for the king’s robes, tugging on them and holding up the plant in his hands. “Look what was growing along the trail!_ Limonium strictissimum _—I read about them in the library and they’re only supposed to grow in—”_

_“Quiet, boy!” the king snapped, brushing the child’s hand away._

_The prince fell silent. But not before Gilles noticed a flinch shake his small body. The boy had dropped the plant, arms gathered against his chest as he squeezed his eyes shut._

_No blow had come, but Gilles now knew without a doubt that one had come before. He narrowed his eyes. “I accept.”_

_“What?” Cogsworth asked._

_“I accept your offer. I will command this guard.”_

_“Ah! The grounds were enough to convince you, then? A man of taste!” Cogsworth said happily, though Gilles sensed his relief. He wondered at the pressure he’d been under to find someone to fill the position. The king must have high expectations for his staff._

_Gilles huffed. Well, the king was getting more than he’d bargained for in him. For he’d ensure that the prince was never in reach of his father’s anger again._

_Ah,_ Gilles thought, coming back to the present, the pain in his gut resurfacing. _Perhaps I sealed my own fate then._ Somehow, he always knew he’d fall while protecting this family.

And so he smiled, satisfied, and closed his eyes.

* * *

“AGATHE!”

Belle held Gilles’ hand in her own, watching the color leave his cheeks and his eyes close to unconsciousness. A terrible, sick feeling rose in her throat. She looked up, watching as Adam pressed his crumpled shirt against the open wound, torn moments ago from his chest. It was already soaked through, bright red in the dark halls. He looked up at her, eyes wide and quaking.

He turned away to shout again. _“AGATHE!”_

Belle barely heard him, her shock muting the violence of the battle all around them. This wasn’t supposed to happen. They were supposed to be safe.

This _wasn’t supposed to happen!_

Agathe arrived only moments after being called, though to Belle it had seemed an eternity. “You have to help him!” Adam cried as she approached, hands now completely coated with Gilles’ blood. _“Please!”_

Agathe looked over Gilles quickly, then reached out two glowing, wrinkled hands and began to work without another word. She closed her eyes, brows furrowed in concentration. Belle watched, her sickness growing at the same rate as the pool of red now soaking their knees.

“Please,” Adam croaked, still pressing his hands against the wound, though it was doing little to stop the flow of blood. _“Please,_ Gilles. You—you can’t die!” He stopped, gritting his teeth hard, eyes growing wet. He closed them quickly, hands trembling. “Oh God,” he gasped. “This is all my fault.”

Belle wanted to tell him it wasn’t so, but she suddenly couldn’t find her own voice. And she suddenly felt it was her fault too.

Several agonizing minutes passed. Then, finally, the stream of blood from Gilles’ gut began to slow, and soon ceased all together. What soaked their hands and clothes started to vanish too, dissolving into a faint glow.

“Will he be all right?” Adam asked anxiously.

Agathe sucked in a breath, moving her hands towards Gilles’ heart. She didn’t reply, simply continuing to work. They watched for several more minutes. Belle’s vision grew blurry, and she struggled to hold back her tears.

Finally, Agathe spoke. “I’ll need to stay with him for some time,” she said slowly. “But I believe he’ll live.”

Belle let out a breath, raising a hand to her heart in relief. Across from her, Adam ducked his head, letting out a shaky breath. “Th-thank you,” he said quietly. “Thank you.”

“My prince.”

Adam looked up. One of Gilles’ men stood there, panting. Behind him, the battle continued, though it had weakened substantially from before. “What would you have us do, Your Highness?” the soldier asked.

Adam breathed in deeply, regaining himself and looking up. “Can you hold them off?” he asked.

The man nodded. “Agathe has subdued a number of them, and we have sighted both the king’s troops and Henri’s men attacking from other levels of the palace. Yet it will still take time to subdue them completely,” he explained. “Take the mademoiselle and return to safety, my lord. We’ll manage.”

Adam looked back at Belle. She frowned. “She’ll get away,” she said. “After everything we’ve worked for…it will be like starting all over again.”

Adam watched her carefully, then turned back to the soldier at his side. “Stay and subdue them, but we’ll go on. We end this today.”

The soldier looked concerned, but only nodded, returning to the fight.

Adam scanned the battle himself, still surrounding them on both sides. Then he glanced towards the railing behind them, towards the open space that dropped into darkness. He looked back at Belle then, growing serious. “Do you trust me?” he asked.

Belle watched him for but a moment. “Yes.”

He nodded sharply and stood, pulling Belle to her feet. And before she knew it, he had swept her into his arms and was barreling towards the balcony ledge. He jumped up at the last moment, feet hitting the top of the railing.

Then, pressing Belle close, he leapt into the darkness below.

* * *

_I have to get out of here._

Circe barreled through the dark halls. Her body began to appear again, having barely managed to stay invisible long enough to escape her old master’s attack and the commander’s blade. She wound down a set of stairs, body screaming, feet large and awkward beneath her. She reached out to the railing to catch her balance.

Long, black nails gripped the fine wood. She gasped at the sight, pulling away and stumbling down the remaining steps.

Panting, she took a long minute to catch her breath before slowly raised her hands to her eyes, staring at the clawed fingers. Then, trembling, she raised them to her face, feeling the way her canines jutted out from her upper lip, the strange softness of hair covering her neck and shoulders.

_You really are a monster._

She cried out, burying her claws in her scalp. A flash of pain, and something pushed its way from her skull, rough against her fingers.

Horns, long and sharp.

Her scream rang in the air, and a new sound echoed back. Cracking, rumbling. And after a heartbeat, the ground began to quake. Circe’s neck snapped up, watching as the large marble columns shook with rage. A large crack dashed up the nearest one, several fragments of the balconies above slamming down along the ground all around her.

Gasping, she stood and ran mindlessly towards the nearest doors. They opened into a grand space—the ballroom, a glittering chandelier at its center and tall mirrors lining the round dance floor.

She ran to the closest mirror, slapping her hands against its surface. “Take me away!” she shouted.

Nothing happened.

“Give me escape!” she tried, frantic.

New cracks sped along the ground beneath her feet, and the chandelier shook, its ornaments clanking wildly. The floor quaked again, and it came down with a violent crash. Glass flew out in all directions, bits slicing through her skin. Circe barely covered her eyes in time to avoid a second blindness.

She looked up then, watching the room crumble around her. Her heart felt heavy, and slow, too slow for how frightened she felt. Turning to the windows, she sprinted towards them and barreled through the glass, falling towards the darkness below.

Something caught her—a bush, thick but rough, scratching up her skin even further. She tumbled out, falling on her hands and knees, taking in her surroundings in the early twilight. Rows of bright flowers—overgrown from neglect, but unmistakable.

The king’s gardens. The place where it all began.

She shrieked, racing past the tall greenery, hands pressed against her temples. Her feet found their own way—for as much as she hated this place, she still remembered the pattern of rows and turns from long ago.

The stables, and the gates, just ahead. She ran towards them. _A carriage,_ she thought. _I can take a carriage, a horse, **walk** away from here if I have to—_

Firelight in the trees. Men, hundreds of them, storming the castle. She paused, taking in the sight.

_That will do._

Crouching in the darkness, she waited. And as the firelight came close, she snatched the first unlucky fellow to pass her way.

A flash of light. He pushed her off him, shouting, calling for his friends. She retreated into the shadows, shaking, sweating. Confused.

Were they protected from her too?

Gasping, she escaped back into the gardens, winding her way towards the back gates, away from the angry men.

Beyond the tall walls, finally. Hidden among the trees. Safe.

Not safe. The voices and the firelight followed. She swore, and broke into an impossible run.

Deep into the woods. Nothing looked familiar here. Her limbs grew heavy the longer she ran, the trees all around growing shorter and shorter. Soon the ache in her back was too much, and her hands hit the earth below.

Not hands. Paws.

She stopped, staring at them in horror. _“No,”_ she said. Or tried to say, but her voice was no longer her own. No longer human. She cried out at the realization, the rasping sound frightening a group of crows from the nearest tree. They scattered above the canopy, disappearing against the dim horizon.

Her own shoulders neared the treetops now, body stretching against her skin and strange ropes of hair falling from her neck and shoulders. She cried out again, a roar in the cold wind, taking off in a new sprint.

The woods grew darker, yet smaller the larger she grew. Yet she only felt more frightened at the sight of them, pines prickling her sides. It was growing cold, the last rays of sun barely glinting over the hilltops.

No longer able to ignore her fatigue, she stopped where she was—a flat plateau among the hills. Where was she?

“Papa! Papa, where are you?”

Circe started, scanning the large clearing. It was difficult to make anything out, for the world had grown tinted with red, and horribly dark.

But then she saw it. A child, alone amid the thin trees. She rubbed small hands against her eyes, pulling them away to reveal tear-stained cheeks. “Papa, please…I-I’ll be better, I promise!” she cried out.

Circe moved closer, and the child turned towards the noise, eyes round and blind and frightened. “Hello?” she asked.

Circe only stared at the child, silent.

“Please…help me,” the girl whimpered. “I’m lost…”

“…So am I.”

The girl grimaced, turning away. She reached into her skirts, pulling out a small scarlet rose. Crushing it her palms, she threw it to the ground in a rage. Then she fell to her knees, to her side, curling in on herself as she wept. The earth around her began to glow, a circle of light surrounding the girl’s small body. And from it, a small dome of roses grew up and around her.

Circe approached, reaching towards the vision. But the moment she touched them, the roses and their young occupant vanished before her eyes. Circe stared at the spot, numb, then pressed her own clawed fingers to the earth. A new rose burst forth from the soil, then another, the plant winding around her in a glowing circle and growing slowly overhead.

Once a child, then an enchantress, and now a monster—she laid down beneath the living dome and let the darkness consume her.

* * *

The ground came, hard. Adam felt the impact radiate from his heels to his skull, and he fell to his knees, throwing out one hand and using the other to pull Belle’s head against his chest. He grunted, muscles trembling and heart pounding from the thrill of his jump.

“Adam!”                                      

He let Belle slip from his arms, taking a moment to catch his breath and assess the damage. Rolling over, he carefully tested his legs one at a time. They ached, and the bottoms of his feet screamed in pain, but everything still moved at his command. “It’s all right,” he said finally, grinning in victory. “My bones are unbreakable, remember?”

Belle stared at him, incredulous. “I believe Agathe said _nearly_ unbreakable,” she pointed out. She looked back up, towards the balcony three stories above where the others continued to fight. “You really just—”

She stopped then, and her eyes grew wide. Adam followed her gaze, and gasped.

The Hall of Arms had vanished. Instead, the walls that once housed empty suits of armor were now the faces of a dozen buildings, each several stories tall with windows crooked and cracked. A street spread beneath their feet, the cobblestones missing in several places and filled with dark puddles. Clotheslines spread across the alley above them, stained tunics pinned up in several places and left out to dry.

And then, people. Hundreds of them, of all ages and statuses, hurrying through the narrow street. A group of children ran past, and Adam reached out. Yet at the contact, their forms merely shifted, his fingers sweeping right through them.

“Ghosts?” he breathed nervously, pulling his hand back to his chest.

“Or an illusion,” Belle noted, now standing beside him.

He nodded slowly, looking back at the forms all around. “But why would Circe—”

“Livre for a rose, Monsieur?”

He looked down. A young girl stood there, blond hair matted against her neck. She held a small, worn basket in the crook of her arm, filled with a dozen bright red roses.

“You can see us?” Belle asked her. She reached out a gentle hand, but her fingertips vanished against the child’s shoulder.

“No,” the girl replied. “But I heard you.”

It was then Adam noticed the fog that filled her eyes. That, and the strange familiarity of her face. He frowned, uncomfortable, though uncertain why. “Where are we?” he asked her.

“The Paris of my childhood,” she replied simply. “The one we knew, once. You’re looking for us, aren’t you?”

“Us?”

“Come. I’ll show you the way,” she said. Then she turned, weaving her way blindly through the thick crowds.

Adam watched her go, then looked down at Belle. Her face had grown pale, eyes wide as she met his gaze. “It’s her. I remember, from the visions Agathe showed us,” she said hollowly. “That’s Circe.”

Adam’s skin grew cold, realizing why she’d seemed so familiar. He stared back towards the spot where the girl had vanished. “A trick?” he wondered.

“I don’t know.”

They stood in silence for a moment, watching the mirage of people hurry past them, through them. “She can’t hurt us,” Adam said at last, repeating Belle’s own words. “And I don’t know what it is but…I feel like we should follow her.”

“Me too.”

And so they moved quickly through the crowds in search of the young girl. No one else paid them any mind, their forms dissolving into mist at their touch.

“There,” Belle said, pointing towards a fleeting form as it ducked into an alleyway. They ran towards it, rounding the corner and entering the narrow street. But it wasn’t a narrow street at all. Instead, a wide expanse opened before them, filled with greens and violets and reds that smiled beneath the midday sun. A fountain bubbled at the center, stone angels pouring buckets of water into its shimmering pool.

Adam looked back, but the Parisian street was gone. Instead, several neatly-trimmed paths radiated out from the circular courtyard where they stood. “My father’s gardens,” he realized.

Someone crossed the path up ahead, disappearing again behind the tall bushes. Adam and Belle hurried to follow, rounding a bend and catching sight of the young Circe just ahead. Her basket was gone, frame smaller than before. She had stopped at the end of the row, leaning close to one of the bushes and closing her eyes.

Then she reached out, plucking a young flower from the plant’s base and bringing it towards the tip of her nose. Inhaling deeply, she smiled to herself.

“It smells so nice,” she whispered as they approached. Then, turning back, she looked just past Adam’s shoulder with those clouded eyes. “Don’t you think so?”

Adam only stared at her. His skin had grown cold again, heart racing in confusion and a strange kind of fear.

Young Circe offered him the rose then, but he shook his head slowly, backing away. The girl didn’t seem perturbed, however, simply tucking the flower into her apron and dashing off once again.

“Adam?”

He was barely aware that Belle had moved in front of him. In fact, she stood with one arm out, as though defending him against the child. The image might have been comical, if he didn’t feel so sick inside.

“Maybe this was a bad idea,” Belle said, shooting one last glance towards the girl’s retreating form before turning back and resting a hand on his arm. “Maybe we should just—”

“No,” he said roughly, gritting his teeth. “Let’s keep going.”

The plants grew taller as they moved through the gardens. Too tall, towering over them like a forest. No—this _was_ a forest now, wasn’t it? Adam looked back again, the pines sweeping back into a deep valley below before climbing the hills painting the horizon. His own woods, it seemed, though they had ventured much father in its depths than he had ever gone before.

They were led up a steep cliff, following the child’s fleeting form as she wove between the trees. Rain hammered against the canopy overhead, dripping through in heavy droplets at their feet. Adam had to push through the lush vegetation, no path beneath their feet to guide them.

“Are you all right?” he asked, turning back to Belle.

She nodded from behind him, flushed but not yet winded. He sucked in a heavy breath at his own exertion, looking back where the child led them. Some kind of trail had finally emerged from the growth here, just barely visible in the twilight. Jagged and winding, leaving trees uprooted and scattered across the earth in its wake. And in those not felled, claw marks—deep and long, leaving the bark black and rotten.

Claw marks that were definitely _not_ his.

Adam looked back at Belle again. “Keep going?” he asked quietly.

She reached for his hand, and nodded.

As they followed the broken path up the mountainside, a strange hilltop began to slowly jut into the skyline. No trees grew on it, its surface almost perfectly round where it emerged from the forest. Adam thought it looked something like a dome topping a cathedral. Or a tomb. 

Yet as they approached he quickly realized his mistake. This was no hilltop, but a giant, thorny bush, winding around the cliffs and tangling itself in the treetops above. Its roses were dark in color, nearly black, and a disconcerting crunching sound permeated the air as their vines continued to twist themselves around the branches.

Circe’s young, ghostlike form paused as they reached thick wall of flowers. Then, with a body like smoke, she moved inside.

They followed, stopping at the edge of the dark plant. Adam strained his eyes, but could see nothing on the other side to tell him how thick nor how deep this living fortress went. So, naturally, he slid out his sword and hacked through the nearest section without another thought.

“Adam, wait!”

Belle’s warning came too late. For the vines, it seemed, did not take kindly to his attempts. Instead of retreating, they wound themselves quickly around the blade and threatened to pull it from his grip. Adam cussed, kicking up one boot against the closest stalk for leverage as he tugged back with all his might. After a good deal of effort, he finally managed to loose the weapon—and fall back flat on his derrière.

Belle made a soft sound of amusement. “You forgot,” she said, helping him up. Adam brushed the dirt from the back of his pants as he watched her reach out, small fingers sweeping over the angry plants. Their movement ceased, and the vines shriveled, fading away into a black mist.

Adam blushed. “Oh yeah...”

He tucked the sword back in place and stood beside her. Then, reaching forward as she had done, he brushed against the dark flowers with a long sweep of his arm. The plants fell away, as expected, and the beginnings of a dark path opened before them.

They moved in slowly, touching the roses periodically to remove a fresh patch from their trail. The ground was soft beneath their feet, wet from the rain though it could no longer reach them through the thick plants. All seemed still and silent as they moved deeper inside the mound of roses.

That is, until that crunching sound rang in their ears once again.

Belle gasped, and Adam looked back. Vines slithered towards them along the forest floor and from the growth above, moving like long, hungry snakes. The path they’d taken was already gone, filled in with new thorns and flowers that took place of the old. Adam threw out his hands again, as did Belle, but they couldn’t stop it all as the deadly bush grew in around them from all sides.

An enormous thorn jutted between them, sinking deep into the soft earth. “What do we do?!” Belle cried. Her voice was barely audible over the violent rustling all around them.

Adam tried to think, heart hammering in fresh fear and making it impossible to do so. He swatted at the plants, but the small patches he managed to kill off were quickly replaced with new growth.

Why wasn’t it stopping?!

Acting on impulse, he squatted quickly, pulling Belle down between his thighs and curling his arms around her as tightly as he could.

The needled vines wove around them in an instant. Slowly, the thorns poked through their clothing and between loose strands of their hair. Adam had already forfeited his shirt to Gilles’ bleeding gut, so only a cloak borrowed from one of their men now stood between the needles and his exposed chest.

 _It can’t hurt us,_ he thought desperately, squeezing his eyes shut. _It can’t!_

And…it didn’t. The violent rustling stopped, and Adam opened his eyes. The vines had finally stilled—wound all around them, thorns having torn holes through cloth and leather and ripped the ribbons from their hair—yet at no place did they touch skin.

They exhaled as one, and Adam thought he could feel his own heart beating through Belle. Just because they weren’t hurt didn’t take away from the unnerving feeling of being buried alive inside a dark nest of breathing foliage.

“I guess we just keep moving,” he observed, swallowing.

Belle nodded against him. Slowly they stood, and the plants receded just enough for them to stand, holding each other tight. They remained that way, moving slowly as one body through the dense growth, unwilling to let its dark tendrils come between them. The final rays of twilight soon vanished, and what little light they had disappeared. They pushed on, unsure where or when they would find an end to this web of darkness.

And then they heard something new. A rumble of a voice, unintelligible yet desperate.

The growth grew patchy then, and moonlight pointed to freedom. They pushed through, and the roses finally parted into a clearing. It opened into a wide dome, roses crawling across its ceiling, a few tendrils hanging down to drape against the earth—and the enormous, breathing form that lay there.  

It’s back jutted in a high arch, greyish-white fur tangling with the vines above. What seemed to be rainwater wove through its fur like long trails of tears, dripping from its jowls and pooling in the soft earth. Yet from the silence above, it seemed the rain had already stopped.

The creature took a breath, long and rattling, before reaching out a hand towards the small body of water. “Find…reflection…to escape…” it mumbled, its voice like death. “Escape…”

Staring at the form with wide eyes, Belle and Adam took a few steps closer. And finally, the creature raised its head. The earth around trembled at the movement, large sections of the dome of growth falling to the ground.

The grass beneath their feet shifted. Belle made a quiet squeal of surprise, planting a hand to her mouth and backing into Adam. He pulled her close, even as all the hair that remained on his back flew up on end. For what had seemed a fallen tree trunk at first glance turned out to be a tail, long and naked, disappearing in the fresh pool of water and emerging on the other side. It flicked up high in the air before curling itself against the giant creature’s body.

It rose up on its haunches. Strange locks of matted fur emerged from the water, wet and dripping, falling in a curtain over the creature’s face. Its body was a patchwork of fur and bare patches, pale flaking skin exposed against the faint moonlight.

But the worst was hidden in the shadow of its form: the chest, exposed and torn apart, a deep black organ as large as a man and pulsing weakly in the open air. A heart, large and rotten, dripping dark fluid into the earth.

Adam stared at it, eyes wide and growing dry yet unable to look away. The enchantress had appeared to him in many forms—young and beautiful, old and weak, hideous and downright disgusting. But for the first time in his life he felt he was really, _truly_ laying eyes on a monster, the kind that filled horror stories and the nightmares of battle-bred men. And it made Adam’s old form seem like something fitting for a nursery rhyme.

Circe’s eyes opened. Enormous, bright, bleeding nearly as much as the putrid heart. But just as quickly they closed once again, and she turned her terrible form away. “Leave me in peace,” she rasped, laying back on her forepaws.

Adam bristled, though he wasn’t sure why. He let go of Belle, pulling the blade sharply from his waist and wading into the pond of tears. It grew surprisingly deep, Circe’s dark blood swirling in the water about his waist.

He reached the other side quickly, heart pounding, staring at her blackened heart as it throbbed against the earth. The sword was over his head now, held tight, already growing heavy in his hands.

Gilles had offered to take this burden from him, but that was no longer an option. Perhaps Adam had always known it had to end this way; he’d been a fool to think another could do it for him. So he grit his teeth, raising the sword higher, knowing what had to be done.

“What are you…waiting for?”

He started, catching sight of those bleeding eyes that now watched him again. They narrowed. “Shouldn’t you…have killed me by now, my pet?” she rasped, short of breath.

He wrinkled his nose, gripping the blade harder. “Don’t call me that,” he said, refocusing on her black, throbbing heart. “You’re weak, and powerless. You no longer control me.”

“Oh, forgive me,” she said scathingly. She coughed, rough and wet, then stared right back at him. “Still, you didn’t…answer my question.”

Finally, he lowered the weapon, staring straight into her eyes. “Stop—stop playing with me,” he gasped. “I won’t take it anymore!”

“I’m not…playing,” she said, breathless. She looked away. “It was an honest inquiry.”

Adam stared at her weak, defeated form, but he felt nothing but disgust. Was this really the enchantress? The one who had tormented him, mind and body, all these years? The one who left him orphaned, trapped in his own home, sobbing in agony as his childhood body betrayed him?

Yet even like this, she _still_ made him feel weak. Still made him feel so small. Still made him feel completely and utterly pathetic.

And he hated it.

Adam snarled, seething. For the first time, the enchantress’s existence no longer made him afraid. It only made him angry. And finally, he found his answer.

He raised his sword again, pointing it towards her—and this time, it no longer felt like a burden. “You’re right,” he said, voice deep and cold. “…I _should_ kill you.”

She shifted, turning back towards him so the heart was in full view, bulging and foul. “So do it,” she whispered.

“Adam?” Belle’s voice, perhaps, though it was distant. Boots splashed in the water behind him, but he barely heard it.

Instead, he went on. “You let this kingdom fall to a reign of terror, of poverty and disease. You tormented my servants, my friends—” He stopped, throat growing tight. _“_ Charlotte died,” he gasped. “Belle’s mother _died!_ Countless others, countless children, all _dead._ Their blood is on your hands!”

“So _do it!”_ Circe snapped.

“Adam,” Belle called out, though he barely caught her words. “She’s weak. We can wait for the others. You—you don’t have to do it like this—”

“You took them from me,” he growled, a shadow creeping into his heart. “My mother, my father. You took them from me and left me alone all those years…” He stepped closer, pressing the tip of the blade to her foul heart. “I didn’t have them _all those years!”_

“Adam, wait, please! You’re too close to this—”

“You—you took that life from me, forever,” he gasped, shaking his head back and forth. “I’ll never get it back!”

Something was overtaking him. That old darkness, the one he’d thought was gone forever, reignited once again. Yet now, instead of a sadness, it had manifested as fury.

“You hurt me,” he rasped. “You _hurt_ me, when I was only a child. When I did _nothing!”_

He’d been so happy. Where had this pain come from? Would it never go away?

“At least…at least let me do it, Adam,” Belle pleaded. Her voice had grown soft. “Please…”

He didn’t hear her. He couldn’t. All he could see was the demon before him. All he could feel was an overwhelming, all-consuming wrath.

“I…I hate you,” he whispered, fingers trembling against the hilt, shoulders shaking in rage. “I _hate you!”_

“So do it!” Circe screamed. _“DO IT!”_

“I should!” he shouted back, raising sword over his head once again for the blow. “I will! You—you _MONSTER!”_

The word came as a roar. A roar like none he’d ever voiced before. The growth all around them rustled at the sound, the ground rumbling beneath his feet.

But then someone was there. Arms around him, a soft warmth encasing him. “Don’t let it take you,” Belle gasped, pressing herself against him, holding him close. “You’re not a monster, Adam. You’re not…”

His body shook once, then twice. “She hurt me,” he gasped, feeling a new pain overwhelm him.

“I know.”

“She hurt _them…”_

“I know,” Belle said softly. “But I won’t let her change you. Not again.”

Something shifted in the dark water. He looked down at his reflection.

And a hideous beast stared back at him.

He gasped, dropping the sword into the dark water and pulling his hands forward. _Still human,_ he realized, trembling with relief. _Still human._

Adam looked back at the water, at the shape he’d lived in for ten years. Slowly, slowly, it vanished, the body of man staring back at him once again.

His arms fell to his sides. He felt numb, unable to return Belle’s embrace. Yet she only held him tighter. He squeezed his eyes shut, willing the moisture back inside as a horrible realization flooding over him.

The realization that even under Circe’s curse, he’d never truly become a monster. But just now…he almost had.

A whimper. Adam opened his eyes, and together he and Belle turned towards the sound. The young girl had appeared again, standing just before them, watching Circe’s now-writhing form as she screamed into the empty night air. The child seemed more solid than before, her pale dress a bright, piercing spot against the dark creature beyond.

She was crying quietly. “I didn’t want to,” she said, turning back towards them and bringing an arm up to wipe her eyes. The cloudiness was gone, bright green orbs shining in the darkness. “I didn’t want to…”

Belle stared at her, eyes distant. “It’s when we finally see the humanity in our enemies, that we find the true way to conquer them…” She stopped, looking up at him. “Agathe told me that.”

Adam blinked, then looked back at the crying child. The child that would grow into the enchantress, into a vile, hateful creature bringing nothing but sorrow into this world. Circe had chosen her fate, had turned herself into this horrible monster by her own free will. Yet at one time, she was human too. And maybe…maybe a small part of her still was.

Maybe that small part of her was standing right here.

He crouched down, retrieving his sword from the shallow pool. “Adam?” Belle asked nervously.

“It’s all right,” he said. “I understand now.” He stared at the dripping sword, then looked at the child once again.

And handed her the blade.

She took the hilt in two small hands, staring at it wide-eyed before looking back up at him. Adam nodded, and stepped back. The young Circe turned, staring at the writhing monster. Then she headed forward, dragging Adam’s heavy sword behind her.

The monster’s heart beat slowly, painfully, the liquid inside having emptied, now replaced by black mist seeping from its deep cracks. The girl stared at it as she approached, eyes wide and unblinking. She swallowed, pulling the hilt close to her chest. The blade was nearly her height, the tip touching the ground where she stood.

Her face grew pale, and she looked back. Her eyes caught Belle’s, then Adam’s, and lingered there for a moment. Then she turned back, sucking in another breath and heaving the sword back. And finally, with all her might, she swung it towards the heart of darkness.

The blade sliced through the flesh, releasing a wave of thick, black smoke that flew out in all directions. Smoke, and an ear-piercing scream that silenced every other sound of the forest. Adam reached for Belle, and they held each other tight as the storm-powered gust threatened to knock them to the earth.

A flash of light, blinding. Adam shielded his eyes, unable to see what was happening until the strange light had dimmed again.

The canopy of roses above had been blown away by the magic’s strange force, and bright moonlight fell in a disc against the ground ahead. Both Circe’s childhood form and the great creature that had once filled the space were gone. In their place was a woman on her hands and knees, middle-aged, hair long and blond with streaks of grey.

Adam stood slowly, helping Belle to her feet. She stared at Circe’s new form, breathing shallowly. “The only one who could destroy her darkness…” she realized.

“…was herself,” he finished.

Circe was staring at her reflection in the quiet water. She pressed her fingers to the skin beneath her eyes, then lowered them to her chest. To her heart. “She warned me,” she whispered. “She warned me it would consume me, but I didn’t listen.”

She looked up at them. And for the first time, eyes of soft green gazed out. They drifted over Adam’s shoulders, as though looking towards some distant place, then fell back on him. “Oh God,” she gasped, fingers reaching into her hair, dropping her face towards the earth, shaking her head in agony. “What have I done? What have I _done…?”_

Her reflection in the water shifted.

“I wish I could take it all back,” she whispered, trembling. “I wish I could change the past…”

“Sifu says it’s dangerous to look back.”

Circe looked back at her reflection. The young girl was there again, rippling in the water. She shrugged, and went on. “She says you can’t change the past. Only learn from it.”

“Can’t change the past?” Circe asked quietly. She reached for the child’s form, brushing fingers over the reflection, barely touching the water’s surface. Then, ever so slowly, she started to smile. “Well…perhaps she was wrong. That old witch never was as talented as us.”

The girl’s eyes grew wide. And after a moment of thought, her mouth curled into a smile to match.

Circe turned her eyes back on Adam. Green eyes. How strange that was.

“You were right, Prince Adam. I never did know what love was,” she said, solemn. Then she looked back, reaching for her reflection in the water. One hand above the surface, the other over her own heart. “But I think if I do this…I will.”

And the world turned.

The ground beneath their feet became open air, pulling them through the roses and the trees until the the forest was racing away from them far below.

“Adam!”

He searched for her voice, and found Belle falling beside him, the wind whipping her clothes and hair with violence. She reached out with desperate fingers, and he just caught them in his own, the force of the air rushing past threatening to pull them apart any moment.

He met her eyes, wide and afraid, which glanced back towards the world below. He followed them, his pulse growing even faster than it already was. The entire surface of the earth seemed to shine like glass, reflecting the nighttime clouds and the stars beyond.

A giant mirror for the heavens, it seemed.

_“Adam.”_

He looked back. Belle’s body seemed faint in the darkness. And, catching sight of his own hands, so did he.

Her lips moved again, but no sound came through. Panic flashed through her face.

“Don’t be afraid,” he told her, fighting the fear in his own chest.

Belle forced a nod, face growing more and more translucent by the moment. The wind grew stronger then, and deafening.

“I’ll find you!” Adam cried over the sound. “I prom—!”

His last word fell silent. Then the wind tore them apart—

And they vanished.

* * *

Circe landed hard. She gasped for breath once, twice, then took in her surroundings.

A beautiful bedchamber. The dark shadows of night.

 _How far did it take me?_ she wondered.

She looked towards the bed. The queen laid there, sleeping peacefully, the storm without only just beginning to blow against the shutters.

Beside the bed stood a boy. Prince Adam’s form, but when he turned Circe knew it wasn’t Adam at all. Fiery red eyes met hers, and Circe realized she was truly looking at herself in his stolen form. Herself from the past, preparing to led Queen Jacqueline away and into those lethal woods. 

“Not this time,” Circe whispered, frowning.

Those red eyes grew wide, confused. And, ever so slowly, her old self grew translucent, and vanished.

Circe sighed, then looked towards the bed again. She still didn’t care for the woman—but without the corrupting darkness inside, she had no desire to do her harm.

Satisfied, she slowly left the bedchamber, shutting the door quietly behind her. Then, turning, Circe stumbled through the palace’s dark halls.

The storm was fierce when she emerged from the kitchens, but she had no strength to fight it. No magic left to escape through one of the mirrors that had lined the corridors nor the icy path reflecting the castle’s outer torches she left behind.

Instead she paced through the snow, gasping for breath, feeling death slowly crawl through her veins and into her heart. The woods invited her into their depths, and she accepted their dark, empty embrace. Her knees hit the earth within their bounds, hands pressed against the fresh snow as she choked up blood.

 _To think I’d die in such a way,_ she thought with dark amusement. Blood painted the snow beneath her fingertips. She coughed again.

“Dear child, what have you done?”

Circe’s head shot up. “Sifu,” she gasped. Agathe knelt beside her, wrapping a small, ancient arm around her shoulder. “What are you—” Circe couldn’t finish, body shuddering violently from cold and looming death.

Agathe’s hand was glowing, running up her back as the old enchantress whispered strange spells. “It’s…no use,” Circe managed. She stopped, sucking in a painful breath. “I used my… _own_ life force…this time. There’s no healing…what is gone.”

Agathe frowned, but slowly pulled her hand away.

There was no reason to, really, but Circe went on. “All those years…jumping ahead…it was easy,” she said, breathless. “It required…little effort. An inaction. But to go back…to undo it all…I knew it would kill me.”

“But this time?” Agathe asked.

Circe’s strength had given out completely, and she found herself staring at the skies above as Agathe lowered her into her lap. “I still…knew I’d die,” she admitted. Then she huffed, grinning in spite of everything. “But I decided I didn’t care.”

“Oh, dear girl,” her old teacher said. “You’ve finally learned to love.”

“Is that what that was?” Circe asked wryly.

“Of course,” Agathe said. “Sacrifice is one of the most beautiful forms of love.”

“How nauseating.”

Agathe chuckled quietly. Circe tried as well, but only managed a grimace. “Love certainly hurts.”

“Yes. It can.”

“Maybe…it’s better…this way. At least…most of it was made right,” she said. She frowned. “It was…wasn’t it?”

“I do believe so,” Agathe said. “And perhaps your next reincarnation will be better.”

“Ah, I forgot,” Circe sighed, closing her tired eyes. “You’re a Buddhist.”

“I failed to convince you all those years, it seems,” Agathe smiled.  

“I don’t know. It doesn’t sound…so bad, now,” Circe said. It hurt to speak, and a strange light was forming against her eyes. “I should…like…another chance…”

And soon, she could no longer feel anything at all.

Agathe watched as the life left the woman’s body. She held her close, feeling a strange sense of sorrow.

She sighed some minutes later, wiping her eyes. “Trapped me in a mirror all those years, and here I am shedding tears over you. You were always a complicated girl, that you were,” she whispered, shaking her head. “Next time we’ll both do better, eh?”

She laid the body on the snowy earth then, and raised her hands. “Return to the earth,” she declared. The body shimmered for a moment, then dissolved into a hundred shining particles that seeped into the ground and disappeared from sight.

Yet just as all grew dark again and Agathe had turned to leave, a new light emerged from the snowy bank. Something pushed its way into the air—a stem, bright green against the dark landscape, leaves unfolding slowly. And finally, dozens of soft red petals opened into a young flower.

“Ah! There you are, child,” Agathe exclaimed, crouching down to examine the rose. “What a beautiful reincarnation! Another chance, indeed.” She stopped, smiling wide. “Come, it’s been some time since I was in my own land. Shall we go there first?”

The flower, of course, didn’t make any indication it had heard her. Agathe wasn’t perturbed, fully convinced she was speaking to her old student. Carefully, she dug away the snow and the earth around the young plant, removing it—roots and all.

Agathe held the plant against her chest like one would a small child, pulling a small hand mirror from her pocket that glowed in the shadows of early morning. “We shall find you a lovely spot in my garden, Circe,” she declared happily.

The light of dawn started peaking over the hills beyond.

Agathe grinned. “Come then. Let’s be off!”

* * *

Adam woke with a start.

He grunted, rolling over and casting a hand across his face as bright light filled his vision. Soon it waned, and he could see the soft rays of sun flitting in through his bedroom window.

He looked around. A round, baby blue rug beneath him. A book, pressed open against the carpet, _Robinson Crusoe_ written in bright golden letters across his back. He reached for it.

And a child’s hand grasped its cover.

He stopped, and frowned, pulling the small hand back into his lap. He stared at it for a very long moment, and blinked.

_I…I must have fallen asleep while reading last night._

It had been a very good story, after all.

00000

“Good morning, my darling.”

“Good morning, Maman,” Adam said, approaching the long dining room table.

“Did you get any sleep?” she asked.

“Huh?”

“Didn’t hear that storm last night, eh?” Papa said. He peeked his nose out from behind a large tome, propped up on the fine table. “Was rattling the windows until half past three. I barely got a wink!”

“I do hope no one was traveling through last night,” Maman mused, frowning. “I would not wish to be trapped out in that storm.”

_“P-Papa…she’s gone…”_

_Sweeping winds, snow coating his hair. Wet eyes._

_“Who’s gone?”_

_Darkness, snow, the sounds of wolves. A heart filled with terror._

_“Mama…sh-she went out there…”_

“Adam? Adam, darling, what is it?”

He blinked, and the strange vision was gone. His parents were both watching him now, faces painted with worry. Maman was already out of her chair, an arm around his shoulders.

“I…” Adam stopped, and shook his head to clear it. “Never mind. It’s nothing.”

* * *

“There we are, love. A nice spot of peppermint tea should calm that headache in no time.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Potts.”

The woman smiled warmly, then moved towards some other task in the large kitchen. Adam sat along the bench of an old oak table, legs swinging above the floor as he swirled the soft orange drink around a few times. Then he took a sip.

“Ouch!” he cried. The drink had burned his tongue, and in his shock the cup slipped from his fingers. It hit the floor in a second, sending hot tea and a dozen pieces of porcelain scattering.

And the room went dark.

“Don’t worry, love. No harm done,” Mrs. Potts was saying, though her voice sounded far away. “Happens all the time.”

Adam’s hands had grown damp, and he found it hard to breathe.

“Charlotte.”

It was his own voice, but he hadn’t remembered speaking the name. He felt dizzy, teetering where he sat.

Hands were on him then, shaking him, calling his name.

“Charlotte,” he said again.

“She’s here, little master,” someone said. “Look, look up.”

Adam managed to open his eyes.

“My prince, are you well?”

A young woman stood there, with a thin build and long, black hair she had braided against her head. She’d been his closest caretaker as a young child, playing with him and reading him stories in the evenings when Maman couldn’t do so herself.

Adam stared at her, a strange and unexplainable relief flooding over him. “You’re alive,” he gasped. His small fingers found her skirts, burying his face against them and slowly finding his breath again.

“Of course I’m alive,” Charlotte said soothingly, running a calm hand over the boy’s head. “Whatever made you think I wasn’t?”

Adam closed his eyes, feeling exhausted, relieved…and more than anything, confused.

“I…I don’t know.”

* * *

“Have you lost something, my prince?”

Adam started at the voice, promptly rapping his head on the bottom side of the large library desk. He crawled back out from the space, turning around and rising to his knees. “I…I believe I have,” he mumbled, rubbing the bruise atop his head.

Lumiere stood there, watching him curiously. Then he brightened. “Well, might I help you look for—well, whatever it is you’ve lost?” he inquired.

“That’s the problem. I can't remember _what,”_ Adam admitted. He furrowed his brows, looking back over the large room, shelves of books disappearing into the ceiling. “But I think I’ll know it when I find it.”

“I suppose that’s logical,” Lumiere agreed. “Well, should—heaven forbid—this missing article be one of these thousands of tomes…perhaps you should start with the index?”

Adam glanced over at the large stacks of parchment that sat on the desk behind him.

_"I can't believe it. I've never seen so many books in all my life. I…I don't even know where to start."_

_"Here. It's an index—still incomplete, but it may help."_

The indices, even the desk itself had grown blurry as Adam’s vision swam. Instead he saw a face, beautiful and kind.

_Familiar._

She smiled. And then it was gone.

“My prince?” Lumiere asked, frowning. “Whatever is the matter?”

Adam ignored him, heart starting to race. _I didn’t lose something,_ he realized quietly. _I lost some **one.**_

* * *

Belle waited patiently, the scratches of chalk against her little board the only sound filling their cottage home. Maman sat with the board in her lap, writing out several short equations before finally handing the tools back to her.

“There,” she told Belle. “That will be your morning exercise.”

Belle took the board and the small stick of chalk, yet she couldn’t tear her eyes away from Maman’s face. And for some reason, she felt so wonderfully, incredibly happy.

“Belle?” Maman asked, cocking her head. “Is something wrong?”

Belle blinked, and shook her head slowly. “No.”

“Well then, get started on that addition,” Maman told her. “I made those last three extra challenging today.”

“All right,” Belle said, trying to shake the strange urge to burst into tears of relief. So, sucking in a breath, she got to work.

Not a minute later, she looked up. “I’m finished.”

Maman was just putting on her work boots before heading outside to feed the chickens. She turned, smirking. “Don’t tease me. Come now, you have to do them all.”

“I did,” Belle insisted, sliding out of her chair and bringing the little board over for her mother to see.

Maman took it from her, raising a brow, and looked over her work. Her expression soon turned to confusion.

“Belle, you…” She stopped, furrowing her brows, looking over the work again then back at Belle. “Dear…did Papa practice these with you the other day?”

“No,” Belle replied. She bit her lip. “Are they wrong?”

“No, no. They’re…perfect.” Maman hummed, sliding back out of her boots and settling down at the table once again. “Here, let’s try some larger numbers. Now, when you have two digits, you must start with those furthest right and—”

“Maman, you already taught me that.”

Maman blinked, and looked up again. “I did?”

Belle nodded.

Maman looked away, scratching her head. Then she turned, grabbing the old rag from the table and wiping the equations away. Taking a long moment, she then wrote a subtraction of two four digit numbers.

But before she even set the chalk down again, Belle spoke. “Three hundred ninety eight.”

Maman froze, and looked at her in shock. Then, slowly, she erased the numbers and started again. This problem spanned the length of the board, and included a half dozen operations.

Belle took a moment longer than the first, but still managed to complete the equation in her head. “Negative twelve and a half.”

This time, Maman had to check it herself. “That’s…right,” she said quietly. She seemed strangely nervous, looking at Belle like she was some alien being. “Um…why don’t you take the day to read, then, my dear,” she said. Then she stood, raising a hand to her head, mumbling to herself as she went back to lace up her boots and head outside.

Belle, however, didn’t realize anything was wrong. Instead, she ran happily to their small bookshelf, selected two novels, and spent the morning reading beneath an oak tree.

Some hours later, she was staring up into its branches. She sighed to herself, savoring the end of the first tale.

_“Did you really climb to the top of the tallest tree here?”_

_“Why, did you want to see it?”_

Belle sat up in an instant. She looked around for the source of the voices.

“Hello?” she called out.

No one replied.

So, with a childish innocence, she shrugged. Distracted now, she set her book aside and slid out the new sketchbook Papa had given her last Christmas. It was filled with simple drawings of farm animals and flowers and their small family—far from realistic, but still quite good for one so young. Yet Belle just wrinkled her nose at them. She could do better than that, couldn’t she?

She found a fresh page, and started to sketch with earnest. She had nothing particular in mind, but soon a form had taken to the page.

“Belle, you’ve gotten quite good!”

She looked up. Papa was standing beneath the tree beside her, staring down at her drawing in awe. Soon, however, he furrowed his brows. “That one’s a bit frightening though, I will admit.”

Belle stared back down at her work. A beast looked back from the page, with horns and fangs and a fur-coated face. “I know he looks vicious, but…” She smiled, touching his cheek with her fingertips. “He’s my friend.”

“Your friend?” Papa chuckled, though not unkindly. “What a wonderful imagination you have, my dear,” he declared. He planted a kiss atop her head, then headed back towards the wide, open fields to finish the day’s work.

Belle didn’t know why she’d drawn her friendly beast, but she found herself looking at the drawing with fondness throughout the day. It was her best yet, she supposed—that must have been the reason.

That night she lay in bed, a small nub of chalk in one hand as she sketched against the slanted ceiling of her attic room. She let her fingers draw at will: a small teacup blowing bubbles from its top, a candelabra with a waxy smile, a sword with a hand-carved hilt she could only imagine to be flaked with gold. A suit of armor, dipping into a curtsy. She smiled at them.

Footsteps up the attic ladder. “Lights out, now,” Papa said, poking his head out from below. He blew out the candle along the floor. “Sweet dreams, my Belle.”

“Goodnight, Papa.”

She waited until he was gone, then reached behind her. Finding the cord in the darkness, she tugged with both small arms until the ceiling above parted before her. Pulling the blankets to her chin, she watched the new stars light the sky above.

The winter snows had only just melted, but she didn’t feel cold. In fact, she felt incredibly warm, as though someone familiar were beside her. She smiled again, eyes lingering on the stars another moment longer before letting her lids fall closed.

_Goodnight, Adam._

* * *

“Your mother is starting to worry about you.”

“I’m fine, Papa,” Adam said uncomfortably.

The king frowned, unconvinced.

“Really.”

Alexandre watched him another moment longer, than hummed. “It’s only—it seems the moment your mother grows better you suddenly begin acting different yourself,” he admitted. “But perhaps I’m being paranoid. I tend to worry for you both, like that.”

Adam swallowed. He had, admittedly, been hearing things, seeing things that didn’t make sense. Though it was more like he was remembering things, really—a constant a sense déjà vu. Everywhere he wandered in the castle or along the grounds he heard a voice, saw a face he didn’t know but somehow _knew._ And every time he thought he’d grasped it, it would slip away.

Slip away, and leave him feeling utterly, miserably alone.

He glanced out the window. Water dripped from the gutter, pale green grass beginning to show as the winter snows finally melted. “I think I’m going to hike the peak today,” he said to himself, before turning to Papa. “Is that all right?”

“Ah! Yes. Some fresh air should do you good,” the king said. “Shall I join you?”

Adam pursed his lips. “I…I think I need to be alone.”

“Won’t give me an excuse to escape Cogsworth, eh?” Papa said, sighing and leaning back in his deep desk chair. “Well, I suppose even a ten year-old man must take time to contemplate in solitude,” he smiled.

Adam didn’t catch his joke, still staring through the window at the hills beyond.

Papa hummed again, frowning. “Well, be back for your afternoon studies with the professor, then.”

Adam blinked, and looked back. “Yes, Papa.”

* * *

He sat along the rocky ledge, legs hanging into the wide open air, a still-frozen lake far below and a thousand trees spanning the valley bowl. The snow along the trail had mostly melted, though it still covered much of the scene before him.

_A charcoal sketch. Black-stained fingers tips, moving quickly over the page._

_“Well, how is it? A fair depiction?”_

Her voice, _again,_ even all the way up here! Adam tried to hold onto it, using every ounce of focus his small body contained, but the strange memory slipped away once more. He groaned in frustration, ducking his head and burying his fingers in his hair, freeing several strands from their ribbon.

Sending the loose hairs away from his eyes with a huff, the young prince fell to his back and stared at the clouds high above. He could still see the faint crescent of the moon, a few of the brightest stars in the early morning sky. Even these seemed to remain him of something. Remind him of _her._

“Who are you?” he whispered desperately. “ _Where_ are you?”

And then, finally, something answered. A tug on his chest, sharp and urgent. Adam sat up, scrambling away from the cliff side before it pulled him over. And then he watched, wide eyed and breathless, as a bright line shot from his chest and towards the distant hills.

Towards the villages beyond.

Towards—

He gasped, reaching towards the place where the shining string tugged on his heart.

“Belle.”

* * *

“Ah, good morning, Prince Adam. Would you like to take Olive out for—”

The stable hand stopped short as Adam ran past him into Olive’s stall. He hopped up, grabbing her saddle and throwing it over her side. Well, he tried to anyway—but his legs were much shorter than he remembered.

“Your Highness! Please, allow me too—”

Adam had already yanked the closest crate over, climbing atop and throwing the saddle on successfully this time before fastening the straps in haste.

The stable man was watching with his mouth agape, unable to function in his shock. “My—my prince,” he finally managed. “Who taught you to—”

“Thank you!” Adam said quickly, jumping up from the crate and onto Olive’s saddled back. He grabbed the reins, gave her a kick and was flying out the barn doors before the poor man could even get a full sentence out.

He had to slow at the front gates, which hadn’t yet been opened for the day. His father was out there, speaking with Gilles and one of the outer guards. He turned, catching sight of Adam and cocking his head. “Back already?” he asked curiously. “And where are you off to now?”

“Molyneaux,” Adam said quickly.

“Molyneaux?!” the king cried. “Good grief, son, Abel’s Peak is one thing—but a two hour ride on your own? Your mother would have my neck.”

 _Damn!_ Adam thought wildly, realizing his mistake. _I forgot—I’m just a kid!_

 _“Please,_ Papa,” he said in haste. “It’s important!”

“Important? What’s so important?”

Adam wracked his brain for some excuse. _Belle’s there!_ he wanted say, but of course that wouldn’t make any kind of sense to Papa. “The—the school,” he said at last. “They aren’t letting the girls go to school in Molyneaux.”

Alexandre furrowed his brows. “Where did you hear this?”

“Um...in the kitchens,” Adam fibbed. “One of the footmen mentioned it.”

“Damn,” Papa said, frowning deeply. “Well, I’ll speak with Cogsworth, we can send a representative out to—”

“We have to go _now,”_ Adam insisted. “Please Papa. I…I want to start helping this kingdom too.” He grit his teeth, hoping desperately that would work.

Papa seemed to consider that. Then he smiled. “Ah! Ready to get involved already? Yes, yes perhaps it would be a good experience for you.” He turned to the guard at his side. “Tell old Cogsworth I’ll be missing my meetings this morning,” he said happily. “Oh, and Adam, go bring Olive back. We’re taking the carriage.”

* * *

Adam hadn’t wanted to travel by carriage—it was far slower than horseback, after all—but given he’d barely gotten his way in the first place he figured he ought to concede. Still, the ride had been _tortuous._ He’d stared out the window impatiently the entire time, tapping his fingers relentlessly against the glass, certain he could have _run_ to Molyneaux faster than this. Across from him, Papa simply hummed happily to himself at the spontaneous excursion.

Adam huffed a stray hair from his eyes, looking back out the window. They’d finally reached the empty, snow-patched fields of Molyneaux’s outer border in the last quarter hour, and now—squinting—he could just make out the little town in the distance.

His heart leapt at the sight of it. And once again, that bright silver string flowed from his chest, ducking beneath the carriage door and down the length of dirt road ahead of them. Adam looked back, but Papa didn’t appear to see it.

He looked back out the window, scouring the countryside. And, only a few minutes later, he saw it. A small cottage with a water wheel spinning in the morning sun, stone steps carefully placed in the hill atop which it sat.

Belle’s house.

Adam flung the carriage door open, toppling out on the dirt road as the carriage continued rumbling on. “Adam!” his father shouted from behind. Adam didn’t pay him any mind, racing up the short hill and leaping onto the porch in one bound.

He paused on the threshold, heart hammering, trying to catch his breath. His hand was raised to knock, but he paused.

_Will Belle remember **me?**_

How long had it taken _him_ to remember? At least a few days, but it could have been years for all he knew. And suddenly, he was terrified she may not recognize him at all.

Heavy footfalls up the steps behind him. “Adam,” Papa rasped, resting his hands on his knees where he stood catching his breath. “By God, what’s gotten into you?”

And the door opened.

“Someone here?” Maurice asked. He blinked, staring at the king and his prince, eyes growing wide.

Someone cleared their throat. Gilles had accompanied them, and now stood nearby. “His Majesty, King Alexandre, and Prince Adam,” he announced formally, though a faint grin crossed his face.

Maurice stared at them, mouth agape. “Y-Your—” He couldn’t finish, pulling off his hat and falling to one knee.

“Ah! My apologies,” the king said awkwardly. “Please rise, good sir. This is just…some kind of misunderstanding. It seems my son…”

Adam stopped listening, searching the room behind Maurice for the one he’d come for. It was full of warmth and life like it hadn’t been when he’d come with Belle that summer’s evening—a table with a spread of breakfast, the smell of porridge and eggs, simple yet cozy furniture with books scattered across their cushions and the floor. A fire burning in the hearth, and woman sitting in the rocker beside it.

A girl sat in her lap, her arms reaching around the woman’s neck and head resting against her shoulder. Her knees were tucked into her lap, eyes closed and expression peaceful. But then, as though sensing his presence, she opened her eyes and looked over at him.

And she smiled.

Belle climbed out of her mother’s lap, and said something Adam couldn’t hear. Soleil kissed her head and turned to check the pot over the fire while Belle crossed the room and pulled on her boots. Then she approached their visitors, stopping just before the young prince.

She reached for Adam’s hand. Their fingers intertwined, and he held back tight, heart bursting with relief.

Belle looked up at their fathers then, who now stared at them in dumbfounded silence. Then she glanced back at Adam with a knowing look in her eye. “Want to see Max? He’s just a puppy,” she offered.

Adam smiled wide, nodding excitedly. And with that, the two children ran outside and out of sight.

The men on the porch watched them go, perplexed. Then, shrugging, the king looked back at Maurice. “Monsieur, I have to ask…have we met before?”

“Your Majesty?”

“Ah! I don’t know what I’m saying. You just, you seem very…” He trailed off, catching sight of something inside the house. “Sir, forgive me, but what is this contraption you have here?”

“Oh, er, j-just an old invention of mine, my king,” Maurice said, looking embarrassed. “Let’s you see who’s on the other side of the door. We’ve got some, um, some nosy neighbors, you could say.”

“Incredible,” the king said, a hand to his chin. “May I…?”

“Oh! Oh, o-of course, Your Majesty.”

Alexandre moved inside. “Gilles! You stand there. I’m going to have a go at this.”

“As you wish, my lord.”

He shut the door, voice muffled from the other side. “Brilliant! I can see you like you were just before me!” The door opened again, and Alexandre stepped back onto the porch, grinning to himself. “Do you think these could be installed on inside doors too?” he asked, turning back to Maurice.

“Why, certainly!” Mauriced declared, beaming.

“Wouldn’t mind knowing when Cogsworth was coming to drag me off to some meeting or another…” The king looked back at Maurice. “Monsieur…?”

“DuPont,” he answered. “Maurice DuPont.”

“Monsieur DuPont, you haven’t heard of the program, have you?”

“The…program, Your Highness?”

“Yes! The program for…” He trailed off, face contorting for a long moment before raising a finger in the air. “The Program for Funding the Common Inventor! Otherwise known as the PFCI. It’s quite important.”

Behind the house, two children stood beside Philippe’s stall, chicken feed scattered beneath their feet, holding each other close.

“You remember?” Adam finally asked.

Belle laughed, hugging him tighter. “Isn’t it obvious?”

“I mean… _when_ did you remember?”

She finally pulled back. “Just this morning. The string was glowing when I woke up.” She flushed a little. “It’s been tugging all morning, so I knew you were on your way.”

He smiled, but quickly furrowed his brows. “But…how could the cord between us still exist? I mean, all of that…it never happened now, right?”

“Didn’t it?” Belle asked. “We remember it, don’t we?”

Adam scratched his head. “I guess.”

“Besides, Agathe said no spell could break that bound between us,” Belle went on. “Not even a jump back in time, it seems.”

“I suppose. But my brain hurts just thinking about it.”

Belle hadn’t seemed to hear that, now looking him up and down. Her mouth began to twitch at the corner.

“What?” Adam asked, looking down at his clothes. They were a bit covered in mud from his jump out the carriage, but nothing ridiculous.

“I-I’m sorry,” she giggled, raising a hand to cover her smile. “You’re just…you’re so little!”

Oh, that. He grinned a bit. “And you’re as adorable as I thought you’d be…” He paused, smirking. “Even with those missing teeth.”

“Hey!” Belle laughed. “They’re still growing in!”

He chuckled himself now. “I can’t believe this,” he gasped. “We really _are_ little!”

A high-pitched bark. Adam looked over, a small grey mutt running across the yard. “Max!” he cried. The puppy perked up at his name, turning and racing towards them. Adam scooped up the dog as he approached, holding him at arm’s length. “You’re little too!” he cried. Max yapped again, panting happily.

They laughed for a long minute, and soon found themselves sliding down the side of the fence and gripping their stomachs as they began to ache from the effort. It shouldn’t have been this amusing, it really shouldn’t have. But even the simplest things felt funnier now than they used to. Did children always laugh this much?

“We need to be a bit careful,” Belle said once they managed to calm down.

“How so?” Adam asked, scratching Max behind the ears.

“It’s just…well, I think I nearly gave Maman a heart attack when I recited Shakespeare in perfect English this morning.”

And suddenly he sobered, setting Max down again and looking up. “Your mother…” he breathed.

She nodded, smiling, her eyes a bit wetter than they’d been before. And so he hugged her again. “She’ll be okay this time,” he promised. All of it—all of it would be worth it, just for that.

“I know some things can’t be changed,” Belle replied. “But…I think maybe you’re right.”

“I am,” he said. Then they laughed again.

“I almost wish the others could remember too,” he admitted after a moment, pulling back. “But maybe it’s better if they don’t…”

“They might remember later,” Belle shrugged. “We’ll just have to wait and see.”

They were quiet for another moment, still soaking it all in. And then Adam sighed.

“What is it?” Belle asked.

“Well…I just realized, now that we’re kids again…” He looked up at the straw roof above, feeling his face begin to burn. Then he glanced over with a lopsided smile, in spite of himself. “I probably can’t ask you to marry me yet, huh?”

Belle blinked, and in an instant her own cheeks grew pink. She looked away, tucking that loose strand of hair behind her ear. “I don’t think Papa would be very happy about that right now,” she replied, smiling.

“Actually…he _did_ give me his blessing already. Technically.”

Belle’s mouth fell open, and she looked back at him. “He _did?”_

Adam looked down at the small hands that were once again his own. He wore a thin golden band on his right index finger, some kind of symbol of his status. He’d forgotten all about it until now. He tugged it off, looking at it for a moment, suddenly nervous. Then he turned, holding it out to her.

“A promise?” he asked quietly. He swallowed. “That…that I’ll ask, later.”

Belle looked at the ring for a long moment, then back at him. Her eyes softened. “A promise,” she whispered.

He helped her slip it on, where it fit a bit loosely on her own finger. Then he leaned in, kissing her softly on the cheek before pulling away.

“You know what’s strange?” he asked.

“Hmm?” she hummed, still looking at the little promise ring and smiling to herself.

“I don’t know what it is, but…I kind of just want to go _play,”_ he admitted, grinning a bit.

Belle giggled softly, a hand to her mouth. “Me too.” Suddenly, a mischievous look crossed her face. She stood quickly, grinning. “Race you to the old oak!”

“The old…hey!” Adam cried, for Belle was already sprinting out of the makeshift barn. He scrambled to his feet, taking off after her, laughing wildly as they ran over the nearby hills. Neither yet realized that their instincts had returned to those of children, but they didn’t have to. All they needed to do was live the new life they’d been given, together.

And live it together they did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more big happy “epilogue” and we’re done! So get ready for the fluff folks, you’ve earned it. xoxoxo


	27. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One year and eight months ago, I started writing this story. It was meant to be a short, fun little romance fic, nothing more. Oops! But it’s been such a wonderful journey and I think (hope) I’ve grown as a writer in the process. Thanks to all the encouragement I’ve received here, I plan to move towards writing an original work next in the hopes of being published. A long ways off yet I’m sure, but you’ve given me the confidence and courage to try. So thank you :) 
> 
> Now, enjoy the happy ending!

## Epilogue

#### Madame Professor

“Woah, slow down Maurice!” the king exclaimed. “…I’m afraid you lost me at _evapotranspiration._ ”

Maurice paused, a long metal tube held between his palms with several small holes screwed through its length. “Ah, forgive me, Your Majesty,” he said, clearing his throat. “My wife has told me I tend to ramble in my excitement.”

Alexandre only laughed. “No apologies. I’m just glad I’m not the only one around here who gets excited about these gardens.”

Maurice hummed pleasantly, looking back at the long row of flowers. A similar metal tube to the one he held had been installed along the inner wall, a small trickle of water leaking into the soil. “I originally designed the irrigation system for our fields, though it proved a bit difficult to implement on such a scale, and I rarely had enough materials to make it work properly,” he went on, falling back into his eager talk. “It’s a much simpler process among the gardens.”

“It’s genius,” Alexandre agreed. “To think these once took hours to water, but will now take mere minutes!” He paused, thinking for a moment. “In fact, I would like to see this working for our farmers. Speak with Cogsworth—he’ll get you anything you need to test the invention.”

Maurice brightened. “Thank you, Your Majesty! I’ll start right away.” He tucked the spare tube in his pocket, picking up a bag of peculiar tools and heading back towards the castle.

Alexandre watched him go for a moment, then furrowed his brows. “Maurice,” he called out.

The man paused, looking back. “Yes, my lord?”

Alexandre raised a hand to his chin. “What is it your wife does, again?”

“She worked the fields, as I,” Maurice said. “And beyond that, she provides our daughter’s education.”

Alexandre raised his brows. He knew Maurice’s young daughter was literate and obviously intelligent—Adam had been tutored by the best, and he now spent hours with his new friend pouring over volumes in the library. “Belle was educated at home?”

“Yes, Your Majesty. I help when I can—but I admit, Soleil is far more suited to it. I’ve often felt she had a gift for teaching. I thank God she does, for I don’t how we could have handled Belle’s need to learn so rapidly without her.”

Alexandre frowned. “I know of the schoolteacher in Molyneaux,” he admitted. “He is indeed breaking the law. Unfortunately, it is not an isolated problem in this kingdom. I’ve been investigating the issue for the past few weeks, and confirmed as much,” he explained. “I was initially tempted to force the hand of those responsible, but Jacqueline feared those girls attending school would feel the backlash from the instructors forced to teach them.”

Maurice hummed, a dark look in his eye. “That could very well be true.”

Alexandre stepped forward, lowering his voice. “So I’ve been thinking that a more… _passive aggressive_ approach may work best,” he said quietly.

Maurice cocked his head, curious.

“Would you bring your wife with you tomorrow?” Alexandre asked. “I have a new experiment I would like us to try.”

* * *

Two dozen boys ran out of the schoolhouse, eager to play in the sunshine that had tempted them through the shutters all day. The old schoolmaster stood at the door, swatting those who idled with the long, flat stick he kept in his belt.

He was soon striding through town himself, head held high, no little self-importance in his step as he passed the bakers and florists and mere farmers who hurried past. This town never changed, and he was the only one among them who wasn’t a poor, pathetic fool. Of course, he’d taught most of them himself—but if they didn’t retain his lessons, that was their fault, not his.

A violent rapping broke his focus, and he turned in irritation towards the noise. A half-built structure stood there, right at the edge of town, settled near a beautiful creek and a small, abandoned field now grown over with tall grass.

“What is this?” he asked gruffly.

The man who’d been hammering away turned then, wiping a sleeve against his brow before sliding down a tall ladder. “New school,” he replied, pulling a small canteen from his waist and taking a large gulp.

The professor brightened. Perhaps this town _could_ change for the better. “Ah! I knew it was only a matter of time before my efforts would be rewarded,” he proclaimed.

“Oh…er,” the man replied, rubbing the back of his head awkwardly. “I think it be a school for the girls, sir. Heard Madame Dupont’s set to teach ‘em this fall.”

The professor froze. Then, slowly, angry red brightened his cheeks. “Who is responsible for this?” he spat. “I was not consulted!”

“Heard it was a royal order,” the man said simply, shrugging. “Don’ know much. They’re just payin’ me to build the place.”

The professor paled. _A royal order?_

“I took the job eagerly, to be sure,” the man continued. “My own girl Michelle is set to start this fall with the others. She ain’t talked of nothin’ else for weeks now.” He paused, brightening again and pulling the hammer back from his waist. “Better get back to it, then.”

The professor watched as he climbed the ladder once more, fuming. Soleil Dupont, a teacher? “Ha!” he barked after a moment. “Like that will last. School for girls…ridiculous,” he muttered, turning away and convincing himself it wouldn’t last a fortnight before they turned the school over to him and sent those foolish girls back home where they belonged.

* * *

A loud cheer rang out from the new schoolhouse. The girls were split in two groups, the benches pushed away as two of them raced to the board to complete a line of arithmetic before sprinting back and passing the chalk to the next teammate in line. Belle was now at the board, quickly penning in her answer before passing the small piece of chalk to one of the triplets. They cheered for her, chattering happily with together as another student raced to the board.

Belle went to the palace several days a week with her father, both to attend lessons with the young prince and receive her own tutoring from their master artist. Soleil’s lessons were far too simple for Belle by now, but she still came often enough to enjoy the company of her friends. Something had happened to Belle these last few months—she’d come out of her shell, it seemed, suddenly befriending everyone she met. Perhaps the young prince had something to do with it, the two of them playing happily with the other children in town when he came by. Soleil didn’t know for sure, but she was glad for it, as strangely as the change had come about.

She continued monitoring the game, smiling quietly at her students’ glee. She’d discovered quite quickly that keeping the children moving—particularly the little ones—seemed to keep their brains moving as well. And she found great joy herself as their teacher. For while teaching Belle had been more than fulfilling, this gave her so much more freedom and variety in what she could do—and who she could help.

Of course, she’d been terribly anxious when the king had first made the proposal. After all, she had no formal training herself. Shouldn’t they find someone better suited to the task? But now…well, she had to admit it felt something like a calling.

The girls grew quiet then, breaking Soleil from her reverie. She turned to see what had caught their attention—and saw one of the village’s littlest boys standing at the open door, shifting nervously.

He caught her eyes then, and swallowed. “P-professor?” he said timidly.

“Madame Dupont is just fine, Benjamin,” Soleil smiled. “How can I help you?”

“Madame…” He paused, looking around nervously at the girls who were now whispering among themselves. Then he sucked in a breath, practically blurting out the next line. “Can I be in your class instead?”

Soleil blinked. “Oh—has your professor sent you?”

He shook his head. “No. I just…I heard your class was more fun,” he admitted. “Please? I’ll be real good, I promise.”

“It’s only for girls!” one her students proclaimed, hands on her hips.

Soleil blinked, glancing across the room. She caught Belle’s eyes, remembering the day she herself had been sent home from school.

 _“H-he said it’s—it’s only for boys,”_ Belle had said, holding back tears and grasping an injured hand.

Frowning, Soleil turned to her class. “Now, just a moment,” she said carefully. “I believe that anyone who wishes to learn should be welcome here. Do we all agree?”

Her students watched her for a moment, thinking. Then, slowly, they nodded one by one in agreement.

“Let’s return to our seats,” she went on, then turned back to the boy. “Come along, Benjamin. You can sit beside your sister today.”

He smiled wide, nodding eagerly and running over to help the others return the benches to their places. He sat happily between the others, legs swinging over the side and gaze intent as he put on his very best behavior for the rest of the day.

A week later, two more boys turned up at the schoolhouse door just as class began. However, these were accompanied by their mother.

“My daughter is already reading full sentences,” their mother said adamantly. “Yet these two have been attending school for two years, and can barely spell their own names. Won’t you take them, Soleil?”

And she did. In fact, by Michaelmas the new schoolhouse was already overflowing with new additions. Maurice found it all wildly amusing, beaming with pride as he spoke of Soleil’s success to his neighbors and how the old professor had gotten what he deserved. Soleil herself continued her work with a quiet dedication, finally feeling like she was living the life she was meant to live.

* * *

“Belle, will you be going with Papa today?”

“Mmhmm,” Belle said happily, gathering her things in her satchel before pulling on her boots. “Master Pascal is going to start teaching me oils today.”

“How wonderful!” Soleil said, picking up their plates from breakfast. “Be sure to wear your frock though, dear. I’d rather you not ruin your…” She paused, a sudden nausea sweeping over her at the sight of hardened eggs on their plates. She swallowed, but the sensation only grew worse. Setting the plates down with shaky hands, she moved quickly out the front door before her own breakfast found its way back out and into the dirt.

“Maman!” Belle cried, racing down the steps after her. “Maman, what’s wrong?”

Soleil couldn’t reply right away, letting the sick feeling take its course before sitting back on the front steps. Belle had her hand on her arm, eyes frantic and close to tears.

“Maman please, you…y-you can’t be sick,” she said, voice shaking. “You can’t…”

Soleil thought for a moment—then, at once, the meaning of what was happening became clear. For there had been other signs over the past fortnight. This only settled it. “Belle, don’t worry,” she said, turning to her. “This has happened to me before.”

Belle looked even more upset at that. “I-I know,” she whispered, staring to tremble.

Soleil cocked her head, wrapping an arm around her daughter’s shoulder. “Belle…it happened when I was carrying _you_ ,” she explained gently.

Belle froze, blinking for a moment. Then her mouth fell open, a smile pulling at her lips. “Oh! Oh, I thought you were—” She stopped again, eyes growing wide. “Maman, does this mean…?”

“Yes,” Soleil smiled, an excitement growing in her own chest. “That’s what it means.”

“But how?” Belle breathed, hands to her cheeks as she stared across the yard.

“Um…Belle, dear, I thought I already explained this to you—”

“Why didn’t it happen last time?” Belle went on, as though not hearing her. “Oh, who cares! I have to tell Adam!”  She threw her arms around Soleil’s neck, kissing her on the cheek before standing and hurrying down to the cellar. “Papa, hurry!” her voice rang out from below. “I’m going to be a sister!”

A loud _bang_ came from the shop _,_ like several precarious objects tumbling to the floor, then Maurice’s own voice rang back. “You’re going to— _what?”_ he asked, voice more high-pitched than normal. “Soleil? What’s going on?!”

* * *

#### Happy Ends

Belle and Adam sat at the long kitchen table side by side, sipping on warm herbal tea. His legs had just barely grown long enough to touch the floor, though Belle’s still swung in the air beside him. Bits of snow clung to their hair, having spent the day running through the fresh blanket of white that covered the grounds.

Belle held her infant sister in her arms now while Adam made funny cooing noises. Belle giggled at him.

“What?” he asked, pouting. “Babies like that, don’t they?”

“Yes,” she admitted. “But I can still laugh at you for it.”

His cheeks went pink, and he looked back down. _“You’re_ supposed to be the one laughing, Eloise,” he joked.

At that, the babe finally smiled.

Adam grinned right back, glancing between the two of them for a moment. “She looks like you,” he said at last. “You have the same dimples.”

Belle blushed, smiling in spite of herself and no doubt showing off those very dimples in her cheeks.

Mrs. Potts came by then, refilling their tea. Belle reached out and took a sip of the sweet drink, humming as it warmed her head to toe. “Thank you, Mrs. Potts,” she said happily.

“Oh, don’t mention it, dear,” the woman replied. “I’m just glad our prince has found such a lovely friend.”

Belle smiled again, then glanced at Adam. He gave her a wink.

The door opened then. A man stood on the threshold, buried beneath furs and covered in fresh snow. He shook it off, stomping the slush off his boots before stepping into the warmth of the kitchen.

“Papa!”

A little boy toddled over on short legs, bright blond hair sticking out in all directions. In his clumsy haste, he ran straight into the edge of the table, knocking his head and falling flat back on his bottom.

“Jack!” Henri cried, racing over in a panic. Yet Jack merely blinked where he sat, looking up as his father approached and smiling once again. Henri let out a breath of relief, scooping up the boy and running a hand over his head to check the injury. “Gotta head a’ brick, this one,” he chuckled, moving back across the room. He sat at the far end of the table, sighing tiredly—though a faint smile returned when Jack wrapped two small arms around his neck.

Someone else crossed the room then, a tray of food in her hands. Sophie paused beside Henri, hesitating just a moment before setting the dishes before him. “We kept it warm,” she said, smiling shyly. “Mrs. Potts said it might be a late day for you.”

Henri looked at the steaming plates of food for a moment, then back at her. “Thank you, um…?”

“Sophie,” she replied sweetly. “Been upstairs, just started working down here last week.”

He stared at her for a long moment, before coming to himself. “Thank you, Sophie,” he said softly.

She turned, and he watched her go—a moment longer than normal, perhaps—then looked quickly back at the warm supper before him. The parts of his face visible above the beard were starting to redden, a small smile flicking over his lips.

Others began to trickle into the kitchen then, returning empty platters and plates as several maids began to wash them. Others began settling along the table, the quiet chatter of evening filling the room.

“Me,” Jack said then, fingers flexing in an out towards the small porcelain cup Sophie had left him.

“You want the teacup?” Henri asked. Picking it up, he downed the tea quickly, letting the cup cool another moment before handing it to his son. “Careful, now.”

Jack held it with surprising gentleness for one so small, turning it in his hands before looking back at his father. “Me,” he said again, holding the cup up in front of Henri’s face. “Chip.”

Henri furrowed his brows. “There’s no…chip…” He stopped, eyes growing wide. And he wasn’t the only one.

The room had grown still, every eye on the young boy. Across the room, Mrs. Potts stood in silence herself, staring at them. Then ever so slowly, she turned, picking up the nearby teapot and holding it in quaking hands. Her face had grown pale.

Belle and Adam, meanwhile, were staring at each other in shock. “Mrs. Potts?” Adam asked slowly.

Mrs. Potts swayed on her feet for a moment, gripping the counter. Adam was up on his feet in a moment, and together he and Lumiere helped her to the nearest chair. One hand still gripped the old pot, her breath nearly gone, eyes unblinking and staring ahead as though she weren’t even there.

“Mrs. Potts,” Adam said again, reaching for her shoulder. “Do you…remember?”

Mrs. Potts slowly raised a hand to her heart. “Oh—oh my goodness,” she gasped, finally looking up at him. “I’d thought them only dreams…but it really happened, didn’t it?”

Adam glanced back at Belle, then at Mrs. Potts once again. Slowly, he nodded.

And in an instant, pandemonium.

“You’ve dreamt it too?”

“It was all real!”

“How could we have forgotten?!”

Meanwhile, Mrs. Potts had thrown her arms around Adam and Belle, holding them tight and pecking them both with kisses.

“Mrs. Potts!” Adam grimaced, to no avail.

Amid the excitement, however, Sophie was frozen in place. She stared back at Henri, who was now watching her with wide eyes. “Henri...?” she whispered nervously.

“Soph.”

He was up in a heartbeat, crossing the crowded room in three great strides and pulling her close with one arm. Jack laughed from his other, small fingers reaching for one of Sophie’s short curls.

“What’s going on here?”

Cogsworth stood at the foot of the steps now, red-faced and out of breath.

“Don’t you remember, Cogsworth?” Sophie cried, breaking away from Henri’s kisses and laughing as he planted a dozen more across her face. “All of it! How did we forget?”

“Forget _what?”_ Cogsworth huffed irritably, looking ruffled as he stared impatiently down at his pocketwatch. “How you were all due upstairs a quarter hour ago?”

“You were a clock, _mon ami!”_ Lumiere cried, barely containing his laughter. “A little wooden _mantle clock!”_

“A _clock?_ What are you going on about? I was no such…” Cogsworth stopped suddenly, growing pale as a sheet. “O-Oh my,” he finally gasped, reaching for the nearest chair.

Someone fetched him a glass of water, the merriment around swelling as more members of the staff were drawn to the noise and told the news. “I’ve got the champagne!” Lumiere declared, somehow having already retrieved four bottles from the wine cellar.

“That—that is for _Christmas!”_ Cogsworth cried, recovering. Yet he was too late, three corks ricocheting off the ceiling as a dozen wine glasses were already being passed across the room.

“This is far better than Christmas, Cogsworth!” Lumiere said, slapping him on the shoulder. “We have a victory to celebrate!”

“And we’re getting married!” Henri cried from across the room, Sophie beaming at his side. The cheers grew threefold, the wine flowing ever more rapidly.

Upstairs, Belle and Adam’s parents moved down one of the grand halls, unaware of the merriment far below as they spoke of current matters.

“You’ve done wonderful work in Molyneaux already,” the queen was telling Belle’s mother. “That’s why we asked you both here tonight. Because we wish to ask if you wouldn’t help us implement more schools like yours across the province.”

Soleil’s eyes grew wide, surprised. She’d expected they’d been asked here for Maurice’s work, not her own.

“We realize with the new addition to your family, you may need some time,” Jacqueline went on quickly. “But we hope…we do hope you’ll consider it, in the meantime.”

“I…” Soleil started, but then stopped. She already knew her answer. “Yes. I’ll help however I can, Your Majesty,” she said firmly.

“Excellent,” the king replied. “Now, we plan to take a similar approach in the other towns, but we need more teachers. We believe you are best suited to oversee their selection and instruction given your own success in Molyneaux.”

Soleil blinked in shock. Was such a position really being offered to _her?_

“It may take you away from your own classes for a year or so,” Jacqueline added. “But it could do wonders for this kingdom’s children. And you won’t be doing this alone—we’ll make sure you’re well staffed, and I’m determined to help you myself in any way I can.”

“Th-thank you, my queen,” Soleil replied, still awed at the offer.

“Wonderful! Now, Maurice,” the king said. “I was thinking about your wood cutting invention the other day, and—” He stopped, voice eclipsed by raucous cheers from the floor below. “What in the world…?” he wondered.

Perplexed, the four of them made their way around the corner and down into the kitchens. As they neared the lower landing, they caught sight of what must have been every member of the household crammed into the open room, laughing and drinking and a few in the corner who had struck out their fiddles and begun to play.

Cogsworth sprinted up the final steps to meet them. “Your Majesty I—I was against this from the start,” he stammered, breathless. He cast a hand down towards Lumiere, frantic. “It was all his fault! I tried to stop them, but would they listen to me? No, no—”

“Ah, the _blanc de noirs_? Pass it here!” Alexandre said, descending the final steps. A glass was quickly produced for him, and he took a hearty sip. “What’s the occasion?” he asked belatedly.

The room grew quiet again, the laughter and the melodious strings falling still. Lumiere stepped forward, sobering before he spoke. “Our victory, Your Majesty,” he said carefully, raising his glass. “Against the enchantress, your brother…and time itself.”

The king stared at him for a very long moment. “…Good God,” he breathed at last.

Jacqueline stepped slowly beside her husband. She looked up at him, then the others, her eyes finally falling on Adam who’d made his way to the front of the crowd. Her eyes grew wide. “Oh,” she gasped, running towards him and pulling him close. “I have you _back,”_ she gasped, eyes already filling with tears. “I will get to see you grow…”

“Maman, it’s all right,” Adam insisted, reaching around her with still-short arms in an effort to comfort her. “Don’t cry…”

Behind them, Soleil looked utterly bewildered as Maurice held her in his own teary embrace. “Maurice, my love…whatever is wrong?” she asked.

He tried to answer, but could only make a sort of teary laugh, holding her even closer. Belle was already beside them, wrapping her arms around both and smiling warmly. “Don’t worry, Maman. I’ll explain everything,” she said happily.

Soleil wasn’t the only one without the full tale—for the others were still in the dark as to the enchantress’ defeat. Eventually, Belle and Adam found themselves standing atop the kitchen table relating the entire event to the household. Adam let Belle explain most of it herself—she’d always been the better storyteller, after all.

“But why did you say nothing until now, dear?” Madame de la Grande Boche asked as she finished.

Belle glanced at Adam. He pursed his lips, looking back towards the others. “We didn’t know if you’d believe us,” he said quietly, stepping back to the floor. “And well…a lot of bad things happened. I was worried it might hurt you all more to remember.”

Someone stepped forward then. Once a small salad plate in a rain gutter, Charlotte stood with courage at the front of the crowd. The others remained quiet, though several hands rested on her shoulders and arms as she spoke. “I do remember the hurt now,” she confessed, looking down at Adam. Her eyes were quaking, but she when on. “But to remember the pain makes the present so much sweeter.”

Adam swallowed against a thick throat, vision blurring as she suddenly knelt before him. She reached for his hand, kissing it softly before squeezing it in earnest. “Thank you, my prince,” she breathed, eyes wet. “You were able to save my life after all, it seems. I will make it count.”

* * *

The night wore on, though the tears and celebrations didn’t relent. Gilles leaned against a far corner of the room, watching the evening’s festivities with a bemused eye.

“Gilles,” someone spoke. He looked down, where Belle’s young, bright eyes watched him curiously. “You already remembered…didn’t you?” she asked.

“Indeed. I’ve recalled it all for some time now,” he admitted. “One does not forget a near-death experience so easily.”

Adam approached then, looking happy but relieved to escape the embraces of the staff that had encased him the last hour.

“As things turned out, I’m grateful you faced Circe without me,” Gilles said seriously, turning to Adam. He looked between the two of them then, children now but at one time two very capable adults. Adults they would grow into once again, and not before long. He smiled. “It seems you two managed to give everyone the happy end they deserved.”

Then, resting a hand on each of their shoulders, he nodded before moving quietly towards the back door.

Adam watched him go, thinking on those words. Everyone had truly gotten their lives back—all ten years and every person they’d lost, returned in full once again. Yet as Adam watched the commander enter the cold night air alone, he realized Circe’s final spell hadn’t gone back quite far enough to give _everyone_ a happy ending.

* * *

“Belle…?”

 _“Shhh,_ hold still.”

“But Belle…”

Belle ignored Adam’s plea for the moment as another dozen songbirds alighted along his shoulders and arms. She’d caught sight of a bullfinch, its crimson breast even brighter than the surrounding leaves, now alighting atop his head. Her fingers moved quickly, sketching the little bird in her notebook and making a mental note of its color for later.

Meanwhile, Adam remained crouched in the clearing, obediently holding out a large handful of seed even as his expression slowly grew more and more concerned. “Belle,” he said again, glancing over at her. “What if one, you know… _defecates_ on me?” he whispered.

She grinned. “Don’t worry, I’m almost done.”

He swallowed, his eyes the only part of him moving as he watched the swarm of creatures jump to and fro about his limbs. The one atop his head now ducked down, staring him in the eyes.

“Hello, little prince,” it chirped.

Adam yelped. His arms flailed about, sending the rest of the flock scattering in all directions and chirping madly at him. And a moment later, the little bullfinch spun in the air and transformed into a tiny old woman.

“Nai Nai!” Belle cried, dropping her notebook and running into her embrace.

“Hello child,” Agathe smiled, hugging her back.

Adam was currently on his backside amid the leaves, looking dazed. Then he sighed, smiling a little sheepishly before standing and brushing himself off.

“You must forgive me, Prince Adam, but I could hardly help myself,” Agathe chuckled. “And I’ve been tackling some new forms, you see! Must get in practice when I can.”

“What have you been doing lately?” Belle asked eagerly. “And did you only just remember what happened?”

“Oh, no, I remembered some time ago,” she smiled. “And I’ve checked in on you two now and again, but until recently I’ve been quite busy…tending to my gardens.”

Adam cocked his head, curious, but she didn’t elaborate.

“Now!” she went on. “Is there anything you need? You did free this old enchantress, after all, and I have yet to formally reward you.”

“But Nai Nai,” Belle said in earnest. “You already helped us defeat Circe, and—”

“Yes, yes, but that doesn’t count,” Agathe said, waving off the excuse. “Come now, what will it be? A trip to the Sahara? Or another enchanted mirror, perhaps?”

Belle’s eyes brightened at that, but they quickly faded. These things were for them, but they already had their happy ending. Something one person still didn’t have. She glanced at Adam, who seemed to be thinking just what she was.

“Actually,” he said, looking back at Agathe. “There is one thing you could do.”

* * *

_He was falling._

_Jean blinked, the blindness from his shock and pain fading and the world around coming back into view. Rushing past in a blur._

_He gasped. Still falling. He looked up at the cliff above, already so far. Heard his own name like a whisper on the wind._

Gilles.

_His heart thundered in his chest. He looked down, the ocean below reflecting the moonlight above like a round, silver platter. He’d miss the rocks, it seemed—not that it mattered. For water was as hard as bricks from such a height._

_It was coming close now, coming far too quickly. He tried to scream, but his throat had seemed to seal shut. All he could do was stare at his own dark, approaching reflection in the waters below._

I’m going to die! _he thought wildly._ Oh God, I’m going to—

_All went black._

_And then, slowly…he opened his eyes._

* * *

“Roll him over, little prince.”

Adam nodded, rolling over the man in the wet sand. He’d emerged from the waves now licking their toes—having come from the ocean’s reflection from decades past.

Adam breathed out, beads of sweat against his brow. _It worked._

When they’d first proposed to save Jean, Agathe had been surprisingly reluctant. _“It’s unwise to alter the past,”_ she’d explained. So they’d come up with a plan to save the man from his fate while only altering the future. Agathe didn’t have any qualms with that.

Adam looked back at the man who breathed shallowly beneath them. He had long, tangled grey hair streaked with bits of red, and wore an outdated military uniform. He groaned, grimacing where he lay. Then he coughed roughly, and opened his eyes.

He stared up at Adam, then over at Agathe’s small form beside him, eyes growing wide. “Who are you?”

“We’re friends,” Adam said in earnest.

Jean furrowed his brows, then shrugged, laying back in the dirt. “I feel… _terrible,”_ he said. Then he sighed, looking back at them again. “Damn…I wound up in hell, didn’t I?

Agathe chuckled. “Not quite. Only aged some forty years.”

Jean stared at her now. He blinked once, looked back at Adam, then blinked again. “What?”

“You see, I’ve done something I wouldn’t normally attempt,” Agathe went on. She grinned, looking at those who approached. “But it seems your Gilles has some very convincing friends.”

Jean sat up in an instant. “Gilles?”

He didn’t have to look far, for Gilles soon knelt at his side. Belle moved beside him, a hand on his arm. His face was white as a sheet as he stared at the man in the sand.

“Jean, it’s…you’re all right,” Gilles finally said, sucking in a breath before swallowing roughly. He reached out to stable the man, though he shook far more than Jean did. “Y-you’re all right…”

Jean stared at him for a long minute. Then he looked down at his hands, wrinkled like the man’s which now held his arms gently. He looked up into the older man’s face again, eyes growing wide. “My God…” he breathed. Then, a smile. “It is you!”

“Yes,” Gilles replied hollowly. “It’s—”

But he couldn’t finish, for Jean had pulled him into a tight embrace, laughing. “I thought I was a dead man!” he cried, pulling back and staring down at himself. “What _happened?_ Was I in a coma? Amnesia? How long has it _been?”_ He stopped suddenly, reaching up and pulling the shirt off his shoulder. His eyes grew wide. “I was shot, wasn’t I? It’s all healed up! And—”

“Yes, yes!” Agathe cried. “Now, slow down young man and let us explain.”

Jean stilled at that, listening with an expression mixed with bewilderment and fascination as the old enchantress explained his situation. Gilles, on the other hand, stared at the man he’d thought dead for forty years. He turned away at times, hiding his face from the others but keeping a protective arm around Jean all the same.

When Agathe was done, she stood promptly, nodded, and guided Belle and Adam away, leaving the two older men sitting in the sand.  

“Gilles…” Jean finally said, turning to look at him with wide eyes. “You’ve—”

“I hope—I hope you aren’t—” Gilles said quickly, but then he stopped before starting again. “She couldn’t save you then, only bring you here, now. I thought you’d want more time even if it meant…” He lowered his voice. “I’m old, Jean. You have no obligation to me. I just wanted you to have the chance to live, if just for—”

“I’m old too, aren’t I?” Jean asked with amusement. “And sixty or twenty it’s still you, isn’t it? In fact— _damn,_ Gilles,” he went on, cocking his head at him. “I think you may have grown even more handsome with age.”

Gilles blinked, cheeks suddenly bright as the setting sun. “Jean…”

“Come on, you’ve got to tell me everything that’s happened!” he went on in earnest. “Did you win the border war?”

“I—yes, we did—”

“I knew you would!” Jean exclaimed. “And Cecile, did she…ever...”

He trailed off, for Gilles had moved a hand to cover his eyes. His shoulders were trembling.

And so, wrapping still-wide arms around him, Jean finally realized how long he’d really been gone.

“What’s that?” he asked carefully, some minutes having passed. A necklace had slipped from Gilles’ shirt, a round, faded locket hanging in the air.

Gilles reached down for it, flicking it open easily before displaying it in his palm.  A lock of bright red hair—a lock Jean had cut himself what felt like a mere hour ago.

“You kept it,” Jean realized in awe. “All this time…”

And finally, Gilles smiled. A hard, aged smile, the experiences of a lifetime apparent in his features. Yet something was still there, something that hadn’t changed at all. “So I always had a piece of you with me,” he explained, repeating Jean’s own words back to him. “No matter how long we had to wait.”

* * *

#### Growing Up

Adam raced down the dock, tugging off his shirt as he ran, hopping out of his breeches and diving into the lake in nothing but his drawers. He emerged from the water a minute later, shaking his hair from his face. “Are you coming?” he called out.

Belle stood on the shore, pink-cheeked. She blinked, shook her head, then set the small picnic basket in the grass. This—it was nothing unusual, after all. They’d come here every summer the last several years, just as the trees grew green and the water warm enough to swim in. Yet this summer, something felt…different.

She stood for another moment, pursing her lips. Then with a breath, she tugged her own summer dress up and over her head, leaving on the long slip and shift beneath. Gather her skirts, she finally let herself smile and ran down the dock after him.

The water was cooler than she’d been expecting. She emerged with a shriek, then a laugh. Yet when she looked back at Adam, he only watched her with wide eyes.

“What?” she asked, suddenly shy again.

He went beat red in an instant, and looked away. Belle glanced down, noticing one sleeve had fallen from her shoulder. She tugged the wet fabric back up then swam closer, reaching up for the edge of the dock and watching him curiously.

Adam stared pointedly at his fingers where they gripped the old wood, his blush seeping into his ears and down his neck. His wet hair clung to the skin there and along his shoulders, which Belle now noticed were quite a bit broader than they had been the summer before. Her eyes trailed down his arms, suddenly wanting them to pull her close.

“Belle,” Adam rasped, breaking her from new daydreams. He was looking at her now, eyes full of that _something_ —a something that came now and again, reminding her of their old life together. The first life.

He swallowed roughly, and finally spoke. “I…I think I’m starting to grow up again,” he whispered.

The water didn’t feel so cold anymore. “Me too,” Belle smiled.

His chest rose and fell deeply. Then he reached his other hand for the dock, inching himself to her side. Another moment and his fingers were in her hair, pushing a wet lock away and behind one ear.

Belle’s heart skipped a beat and she closed her eyes, waiting. When his lips found hers they were damp, and tasted faintly of lake water. But they were still warm, and reminded her of feelings felt long ago.

He pulled back then and, slowly, that funny little lop-sided smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. Belle laughed lightly at the sight of it. “You haven’t smiled like that in a long time,” she teased him.

He tried to tame the grin, but it only worked its way up the other side. “Well…I haven’t kissed you in a long time,” he admitted. Then he paused, looking thoughtful. “Can I do it again?”

“Yes, please.”

Some minutes later Adam pulled himself up onto the dock with a promise she wouldn’t look as he retrieved his breeches. She kept the promise—mostly—and soon he was back clothed and holding the picnic basket beneath one arm. He pulled out the blanket from within, then reached down to help her out of the lake and quickly wrapped her in its warmth. Then they settled on the dock beneath the warm sun to munch on sandwiches.

“Let’s keep it a secret.”

Belle barely heard him, distracted by the feeling of his arm around her, their fingers tangled together like they’d done so long ago. “Hmm?” she asked.

“This,” he pressed. “Let’s not…let’s not tell anyone just yet.”

“What?” she finally realized, sitting up further and raising her brow. “Why?”

Adam looked a little sheepish, staring at the half-eaten sandwich in his hand before finally glancing back at her. “I’d just…I’d rather not have a chaperone trailing us everywhere right away,” he admitted.

Belle registered his words, grinning. She nodded.

* * *

Cogsworth shut the tiny wooden door with a careful hand, bringing the mantle clock to his ear. The _tick tick_ of its inner workings called back to him, its gentle hum still a strange comfort to him even after all these years.

A giggle cut through the soft noise, floating down from the towering balconies above. Cogsworth frowned, placing the clock back in place above the library hearth before turning towards the sound. Another quiet laugh, followed by unintelligible whisperings. He rolled his eyes. _Lumiere and Fifi at it again, no doubt,_ the old butler thought, huffing to himself and moving towards the stairs to put an end to such mischief.

As he reached the second balcony, the noises came to an abrupt halt, followed by the sounds of someone stumbling about and a half dozen books falling to the floor. Smirking, Cogsworth rounded the corner.

“Aha—oh,” he said, stopping in his tracks. Where he’d expected to find the castle’s maitre’d and one of their maids, he saw Belle. She sat on one of the long couches that scattered these upper floors, staring intently at the book open in her lap. She leaned forward in concentration, one hand reaching up to tuck several stray pieces of hair away before covering one bright red cheek.

Not two paces away stood the teenaged prince, slouching casually—too casually, almost—against the nearest bookshelves. His head was buried in another novel, held up to his face by both hands.

Cogsworth cleared his throat. “My lord,” he said. “You haven’t seen Lumiere about, have you?”

Adam peeked just a fraction more of his face above the book. He shook his head. “Nope.”

“Mmm,” Cogsworth said, puzzled. “Well, forgive my disturbance.”

At the bottom of the stairs once again, he could have sworn he heard another giggle bouncing down the steps behind him.

Three weeks later, Prince Adam came bounding down the hall at full speed.

“Have they started already?” he gasped, stopping before his father’s office where he’d been invited to meet with some visiting dignitaries.

“No, no, you are just in time, my prince,” Cogsworth said. “Though before you go in, I must inquire about this new… _trend,”_ he said, raising a brow.

Adam frowned, cocking his head. “What do you…” He trailed off, having caught sight of his reflection in a mirror lining the wall. What looked very much like women’s rouge was smudged generously over his mouth. “O-oh!” he stammered, lifting an arm and rubbing his face furiously against his sleeve. A long streak of red stained the fabric as he pulled away, but it had only served to spread the color further into his cheeks.

“Cogsworth, th-this isn’t, um…” Adam faltered, looking frantic and trying again with his other sleeve. “This isn’t…”

“Isn’t what, Your Highness?”

“I mean, I was just…” Adam went on, giving up his attempts to clean his face. “I was just eating some, um…strawberries!” he exclaimed. “Yeah. Strawberries.”

Cogsworth narrowed his eyes. “And they found their way on to your neck, my prince?”

Adam’s hand flew to the spot, cheeks flushing even brighter than the “strawberries” still coating his lips. “I, uh…I’m a messy eater,” he claimed.

“Indeed.”

“I’ll just…I’ll go wash this off before I go in…” he stammered, already racing back down the hall.

“A wise choice, I believe.”

Another month flew by. It had been a busy night, for the king had hosted a dozen important families in an effort to implement some new policy or another. Still, additional duties did not mean Cogsworth abandoned his usual ones, and was now making his nightly rounds, ensuring each clock wasn’t a second out of time. Everyone had long since gone to bed.

Or so he thought.

Humming to himself, he reached a parlor off the North Wing that housed a tall grandfather clock. A beautiful piece, but it wasn’t the clock that caught his eye. For as the light of his candle fell over the room, a head flew up from the opposite side of a long sofa.

The young prince stared at him, eyes wide and startled. Another figure emerged slowly beside him— Belle, pink-cheeked and giggling. Her hair was undone, sleeves loose around her shoulders, the prince’s own jacket discarded halfway across the room.

“Aha! I knew it!” Cogsworth declared, wagging a finger at them from the doorway.

Prince Adam cursed, though Belle only giggled further, burying her face in his blouse.

“Well, you’ve had your fun,” Cogsworth went on, determined to enforce a very strict chaperone policy the following day as he hurried them from the room. “Now it’s off to bed, off to bed.”

* * *

#### Just Deserts

Gaston stepped into the bustling barn, greeted by a gay tune and a hundred chatting villagers.

“Don’t worry—I’ve arrived!” he announced loudly, making sure to flex his biceps as he said it.

Those nearby glanced his way, but quickly returned to their own conversations.

Gaston frowned, deeply, and a moment of confusion swept over him. Didn’t everyone adore him? He brought a hand to his head. No, no that was one of his dreams wasn’t it?

He could barely keep things straight anymore. And it wasn’t just dreams of admiration. He’d been having nightmares—nightmares of a strange, hideous creature, holding him by the throat. Of wolves snarling and drawing near him as he fought in vain to move a muscle. Of a woman with bright red eyes, and a horrible pain.

Gaston shook his head, pushing the strange memories away. They made him feel weak, which was something Gaston was _not._

Huffing in annoyance, he scowled at those ignoring him. These little people were fools if they couldn’t see how great he was. He’d just have to _make_ them see.

He pushed his way past them, searching for fresh meat. His eyes soon caught three pretty ones, sitting together in the corner. Their blond curls and well-endowed figures were hard to ignore, and he made his way over in three great strides.

“Now, ladies, you can only have me one at a time,” he began, puffing out his chest and offering his best grin. “Who will be first?”

The triplets looked up at him, and for a moment their eyes grew wide and glassy. He smirked—it didn’t take much for Gaston to catch a dame, after all.

Yet barely another moment passed as, one by one, their eyes slowly darkened into something strange. “We’re asked for,” the girl in amber replied quickly, grabbing her sisters’ hands and whisking them away before Gaston could even blink.

He watched, dumbfounded, but before he could react another sight caught his eye. A brunette this time, standing alone along the wall and watching the dancers cross the floor. Something about her seemed…familiar. Well, whatever it was, she was _gorgeous,_ and he promptly made his way to her side.

“We’ll go the _Canarie_ together,” he declared, reaching for her hand.

She promptly pulled her hand away just before he could catch it. “No, thank you,” she said calmly.

Gaston blinked, shocked by her bluntness. “Ah, I see,” he said, recovering. “You’ve already been asked. I’ll dance with you the next, then.”

 _“No,_ thank you,” she said, more firmly this time.

Gaston now scowled. Something about her _definitely_ seemed familiar now, but he couldn’t quite place it. He shook away the feeling, and persisted. “Well, I know you don’t _really_ mean—”

“I’m very sorry, Gaston,” she said, though she didn’t seem very sorry at all. Instead, she looked him straight in the eye. “But I will _not_ be dancing with you. Ever.”

Gaston felt his face grow red in an instant, insides burning with fury. And he remembered—remembered a girl who dared deny him, who’d looked him in the eye like this once before.

_Belle._

A rough hand on his shoulder, and he snapped his head back. Another man stood beside him, younger and with the leanness of one who still growing, but with just enough height on him that Gaston found himself looking _up._ He scowled. That is, until he caught the younger man’s fierce blue eyes.

The room went dark, the dancing couples now trees that towered all around. The young man, a hideous, snarling creature with claws at his throat. Claws that could tear him in two in a heartbeat.

Gaston started to sweat, hands quaking. Nightmares—they’d only been nightmares, hadn’t they?!

The vision faded then, the light from the old barn returning. But the beast’s blue eyes remained, glaring at him from the face of a stranger.

“My, my, Gaston,” the young man said. His eyes narrowed, though the corner of his mouth twitched into some kind of wicked, knowing smile. “You look like you’ve seen a monster.”

Gaston froze. _How does he know?_ He felt a heavy bead of sweat fall down his back, and had a sudden, intense desire to be as far from the young man as possible. “I…I just…I need some air,” he said roughly.

He left quickly, feeling those blue eyes trailing him all the way to the doors. Gaston stepped quickly out into the cool night air, fuming.

Damn, but that guy made him anxious. He grumbled, kicking an old bucket out of his way and as he paced the streets. This was stupid. _No_ one scared Gaston! That guy was practically a kid—a kid, who had taken the prettiest girl in the village right from under his nose.

“Damn him,” Gaston grumbled. “I could pound him right into the ground!”

“You couldn’t be speaking of our prince, could you?”

Gaston started, turning towards the voice. An older man stood hidden in the shadows, leaning casually against the barn wall. He wore some kind of uniform, reddish grey hair tied against his neck.

“Prince?” Gaston asked belatedly.

“Prince Adam,” another voice said. Gaston turned, another old soldier watching him from the opposite side of the alleyway. He stepped forward, thinner but taller than the other man, a gleaming golden blade at his waist. “And Mademoiselle Belle’s beau,” this one went on.

Gaston’s jaw nearly fell to the earth. “Her _what?”_

“You know,” the first man drawled, moving towards his other side. “It’s high treason to threaten any member of the royal family.”

Gaston paled. “I didn’t—I wasn’t—I d-didn’t know it was him!” he cried.

“Ignorance is no excuse for breaking the law,” the second man said seriously.

Gaston was growing nervous again—he didn’t like feeling trapped between these two, whoever the hell they were. He wrinkled his nose, growing defensive. “Well, what’re—what’re a couple old geezers like you gonna do about it?!” he demanded, raising a fist.

He froze as soon as he did, body covered in sweat in an instant as the first man’s blade slid between his legs. Between his legs and very, _very_ close to two things Gaston took great pride in.

The old soldier leaned close, dark amusement in his eyes. “I can think of a few things we could do,” he breathed. He glanced to his companion then. “But what do you say, Commander?”

Gaston paled further, barely breathing in fear that blade would slip an inch the wrong way. “C-Commander?” he practically squeaked.

“Of the king’s guard? Indeed,” the first man went on, now grinning wildly. “You didn’t think the prince himself would attend a country dance without security, did you?”

Gaston swallowed. He shook his head.

The commander himself spoke again. “King Alexandre will not stand for abuse or violence,” he said quietly. “And nor do I. Things will not be tolerated as they…once were.”

Gaston was practically quaking now. “I-I won’t do a thing, I swear!”

The commander leaned close then, pulling his own sword free in an instant and placing it against Gaston’s neck. “No, you _won’t,”_ he said darkly.

Gaston stared at him with wide eyes. From this close he could see the golden rings in the man’s ears and his reflection in them, trembling like a frightened hare.

“We’ll be watching you. One toe out of line, and you _will_ regret it,” the commander went on, voice even but cold. “Do you understand, young man?”

Gaston swallowed again, feeling the cool blade against his throat. He nodded earnestly.

“Good.” The commander pulled away, nodding for his companion to do the same. The shorter, broader man did so, somewhat reluctantly. As soon as he was free, Gaston fled down the alleyway, forgetting all about pretty girls and the attention of the villagers in his desire to get as far away as possible from those guards. Them, and the strange prince with the eyes of beast.

As soon as he was out of sight, Jean chuckled. “Well, I think we scared him right well,” he smirked. “Bet he’ll be looking over his shoulder next time he takes a shit.”

“Jean.”

“Sorry,” he said, though his smirk only widened. “Still…you have to admit that was satisfying.”

Gilles watched Gaston’s hulking form scamper around the distant corner. He let himself grin. “Indeed. Very satisfying.”

* * *

Prince Victor sauntered through the halls of his palace. He had plenty he should be doing, but cared little for his duties. Instead he went in search of entertainment, leaving behind a half-read letter from his brother.

 _I’ve sent a representative to speak with you,_ Alexandre had written. _I would advise, Brother, that you take great caution in their presence._

Victor huffed. What in hell’s name was that supposed to mean?

A maid approached then, distracting him from his thoughts. She held a tray of used plates in careful hands, ducking her head and passing him silently. Yet didn’t stop Victor from noticing her.

“You, there,” he said.

She froze, holding the platter tight, then offered a deep curtsy. “Y-Your Highness,” she said nervously.

He looked her up and down, slowly. “You’re new,” he observed, wetting his lips.

“Yes, Prince Victor.”

He moved to the nearest door, pushing it open into one of the guest chambers. “Come in here,” he said quietly.

She glanced towards the open door, eyes growing wide. “I’m…I’m supposed to report downstairs for supper, my lord,” she said, voice barely above a whisper.

“They don’t need you down there,” he said darkly, leaving the threshold and moving closer. He soon towered over her, staring down with hungry eyes. He cocked his head. “Besides, you wouldn’t disobey an order from your prince, now would you?”

The girl stared at her feet, the tray in her arms starting to shake. Victor grinned, reaching for her wrist—

Then fell heavily to the floor.

The maid screamed, dropping her tray and fleeing down the long hall. As the sound of her heels grew faint and the clamoring silverware stilled, a quiet cackle rang out from the darkness.

“Oh ho! I’m really getting the hang of this now.”

Victor tried to move, but could barely roll over, turning this way and that in search of the voice. Instead, he caught sight of the large silver platter the maid had dropped, leaning against the door frame.

From it, his reflection stared back at him—and he squealed in panic.

Agathe stepped out of the shadows then, still snickering to herself. “A swine! How fitting,” she observed, staring down at the creature. “The perfect spell for a greedy, disgusting man like you.”

The pig at her feet squealed again. He ran in a circle, stopped, and began snorting angrily.

“ _Change me back,_ you say?” Agathe replied, raising a brow and placing two wrinkled hands on her hips. “You better ask more nicely than that, or Chef may decide to put you on the menu.”

The animal froze. Then, slowly, it ducked its head and offered a short, far more polite little snort.

Agathe smirked. “Well, perhaps I can be merciful,” she decided. She crouched to his level then, staring at him with narrow eyes. “But place a threatening hand on another soul, and this spell returns in full force. Sound fair?”

Pig Victor’s beady black eyes grew wide. He nodded earnestly.

With a wave of her hand, she returned Victor to his human form. He appeared in an instant as himself, crouched on his hands and knees, breathing heavily and staring up at Agathe with lingering horror.

She laughed, stepping through the platter’s reflective surface and leaving Prince Victor to rethink his life.

* * *

#### This Time

Belle sat alone in a beautiful carriage, gazing out over the countryside lumbering along outside her window. The fields there had finally begun looking familiar again, and she was reminded of the days she herself once spent in them.

How different things were now.

She looked down at the parcels across from her, tucked safely against her feet. Not gifts nor gowns of the latest fashion filled them, but canvases filled with art. Her own.

She’d spent the summer in Florence, studying alongside other young artists and visiting the city’s beautiful structures and museums. Master Pascal had insisted she visit the place herself, believing it would provide her the experience and exposure she would need like nothing else could. It had been _wonderful—_ and she’d even received a commission from a prominent family that she was anxious to start on once she returned home.

_Home._

The word meant many things to her these days. It brought thoughts of her family, of course. Maman was now teaching in Molyneaux once again—it was where she felt she could do the most good, though she continued providing instruction for many of the teachers throughout the province. Papa had been working to modify several of his more practical inventions for widespread use across the province—and just last year his wood-cutting invention had been picked up by a bordering kingdom. Still, even with their newfound prosperity her family remained in the cottage on the hill. Eloise was still young, after all, and had good friends in Molyneaux and Beaumont alike. In fact, she often followed Jack and the triplets’ young sister Nicolette around as they played in the village square or visited the castle gardens.

Still, _home_ meant something more to Belle. One person came to mind and she smiled, glancing down at the stack of letters in her hands. She skimmed through the ones on top, picking out lines here and there written in Adam’s hand.

_June 4 th _

_How is it there? Are they treating you well? Have you made any friends?_

_June 6 th_

_Well, I’ve made it ten days without you. Only eighty-six to go…oh God. I shouldn’t have counted._

_June 10 th _

_Two weeks. Remind me why I stayed behind?_

_June 16 th_

_Papa says I may as well have come with you with how “air-headed and useless” I’ve been since you left. Perhaps I should come after all?_

_No, no. I won’t disturb your work. You’re doing wonderful things!_

_But I do miss you so._

_June 25 th_

_You’re right, I’ll try to focus on things here. This will be good for me, won’t it?_

_June 26 th _

_It’s not good for me. God, I’m useless without you._

Belle chuckled. Poor Adam, she hadn’t meant to abandon him so. Though she herself had to admit three months without him had certainly sounded a lot shorter than it felt.

Suddenly, the wagon lurched to a stop. The guards outside started to shout, and a horse neighed violently. Heart racing, Belle moved to the opposite window and pulled back the curtain. The guards surrounded a bright white horse, pulling a tall, cloaked figure from the saddle and wrestling him to his knees. Gilles stepped forward, frowning deeply and pulling back the hood.

He blanched. “Prince—Prince Adam?!” he cried.

The young man looked up—broader even than Belle remembered, with a dark blond beard that hadn’t been there before. “Er…bonjour, Gilles,” Adam said sheepishly.

Jean started to laugh, the rest of the guard chuckling as they relaxed and helped the prince to his feet. Gilles only sighed, running a hand down his face. “Good lord, I thought you were a bandit.”

“Sorry, I just…I thought I’d meet you partway,” Adam explained. He looked up at Belle then, smiling wide. She pushed open the carriage door further, and he ran over to join her inside.

The party began moving once again, the carriage bumping lightly over the road. Adam looked at her for a long moment, then reached for her hand.

“Hi,” he whispered, almost shyly.

“Hi.”

He reached up, rubbing the back of his neck. “Um, how are—”

Belle cut him off, reaching both arms over his shoulders and kissing him fiercely. Adam hummed deeply, pulling her close.

For three months really had been too long.

Shadows had already begun inching their way through the curtains when they finally pulled away, smiling at one another. “It’s the beard, isn’t it?” Adam smirked.

Belle grinned back, blushing, and Adam leaned in to continue. Belle, however, ducked out of the way as she reached towards the floor. “Wait!” she laughed, pulling one of the parcels into her lap. “I want to show you something. Before it grows too dark.”

She undid the thin ties, carefully pulling back the leather wrap to reveal a detailed painting of Florence’s famous medieval cathedral.

Adam pulled the canvas carefully into his lap, staring at it with wide eyes. “This…this was really you?”

“Mmhmm,” she said, pulling another out to show him. Then a tube with rolled up sketches, and several more notebooks she’d filled in the short months.

“Belle…these are _amazing,”_ Adam said. His chest swelled, staring at a painting of the Italian countryside with a pride in his eyes. “You really do make the world more beautiful, you know that?”

Belle flushed. “Adam…”

“It’s true.”

He was holding her hand now, thumb brushing over the little ring he’d given her. It now fit snuggly on her pinkie finger, a reminder of a promise made years ago.

“Would you like to have dinner with me tomorrow night?” he asked quietly. He looked back up then, gaze strangely intent. “A…a _more-than-one-spoon_ kind of dinner?”

Belle smiled, remembering the same question from another life.

“Yes.”

* * *

It had been like reliving a dream. Excepting Adam’s form, the night had been nearly identical to the one from before—same candlelit dinner, same music, same dance alone across the grand ballroom floor. She even wore the same beautiful yellow gown—given to her by Queen Jacqueline, despite Belle’s efforts to stop her—and Adam had somehow been fitted in another deep blue suit like the one he’d worn in his cursed form.

 _“Things were kind of ruined that night,”_ Adam had explained when proposing the idea. _“So we’re going to make up for it.”_

It was wonderful, and magical, bringing Belle back to another life yet again. Yet Adam himself seemed nervous, though perhaps that was just like the first time as well. They had been apart the last few months…perhaps that was it? Or perhaps he was worried something would go wrong once again?

“Do I still dance as well as I did then?” he asked, holding her close in the middle of the grand ballroom. The lights were dim like they had been before, that same beautiful melody drifting from the shadows.

“Mmm… _almost_ as well,” Belle teased.

He laughed, though Belle still sensed something strange about his expression as he led her to the balcony and down the old hidden steps. Olive stood waiting for them—as Belle knew she would be—though this time Adam pulled himself into the saddle behind her before they took off towards the Abel’s Peak.

“You’re shaking,” Belle observed quietly, reaching for his hand. “She won’t show up, not this time. She’s gone.”

Adam smiled a little against her cheek, and—like the first time—he seemed aware of something she didn’t. “I know.”

The stars were as beautiful as she remembered, though they now revealed the bright summer constellations instead of those of deep winter.

Still, Belle was distracted by the man beside her. Adam was fully grown once again, tall and broad and warm against her back as they settled on a blanket in the grass.

He wrapped his arms around her from behind. Still trembling.

“…I love you,” he whispered.

Belle leaned into him, soaking in his presence she had missed so much. “I love you too,” she said easily. The words had become second nature by now, though no less meaningful.

Adam sucked in a breath, tucking himself even closer against her. “I wanted to say that then, but she stopped me.”

“You were going to tell me that night?” Belle asked, surprised.

“Yes. Yes, I’d planned to say something important then,” he confessed. He paused, then went on carefully. “…Much like tonight.”

Belle’s breath caught in her throat. For suddenly, she realized what was coming.

The forest all around was still, the only sound a stream somewhere far below. “Do you know what today is?” he asked, voice gentle in her ear.

Belle shook her head slowly. “What?” she breathed.

He smiled a little, gazing out over valley himself. “It’s the day we met,” he explained. He turned then, and Belle sensed him looking at her. “The first time.”

He pulled away, and stood, moving before her. Taking Belle’s hands, he helped her to her feet, his back to the starry forest beyond. Then, eyes not leaving hers…he fell on one knee.

“I’ve tried for years to put this to words. I’ll no doubt fail again, but I have to try.” He stopped, sucking in a breath. “Belle, you are beautiful. And the beauty I see with my eyes is only the faintest fraction of what I mean.

“Your beauty is selfless. Your beauty is kind. Your beauty is brilliant, and daring…and wonderfully defiant,” he said, a hint of amusement in his eyes.

Belle laughed quietly, eyes shining.

“It’s loving everything and everyone you see,” he went on, sobering. “Even a monster…who should have been unlovable.”

“Oh, Adam…”

He only gripped her hands harder, still quaking. “That day you first came here, I’d spent the last ten years in sorrow. This time I spent them in joy, because I was with you.” He stopped, voice growing to a whisper. “…Spend the rest with me, Belle?”

Belle smiled, heart bursting at the seams and loving him all the more. For even now, even after everything, he’d assumed nothing. She reached out, resting her hand on his cheek like she’d done so long ago.

“You know I will.”

* * *

“We’re… _married.”_

Belle laughed lightly—Adam had probably said that a dozen times that day. “I know!” she whispered in excitement, heart full, now tangled in Adam’s arms in their private carriage where they finally found themselves alone for the first time since speaking their vows. Belle grinned to herself, and went on. “And I’m a _princess.”_

Now it was Adam’s turn to laugh. “Perhaps,” he said, quickly sobering as he pulled her even closer. His voice grew low. “But you’re _my_ queen.”

If it weren’t for the occasion his words may have aroused a snort from Belle. Yet as it was, they only aroused…other things.

Adam had felt it proper—and Belle, wise—to wait until this day before fully acting on such feelings. And so they had waited…if barely. As such, it was now highly unlikely they would last another three hour ride to their inn along the coast.

As though thinking the same thing, Adam pulled her even closer, breath hot against her lips. “We’re _married,”_ he said again, as though he still couldn’t quite fathom it.

“Indeed you are!” someone said suddenly. “Congratulations!”

Adam swore loudly, jumping at the sound of the voice and hitting his head on the carriage roof. For a tiny, wrinkled old woman now sat in the seat across from them.

“Nai Nai!” Belle cried in surprise, flushing violently.

“Good God, Nai Nai, we’re—we’re on our _honeymoon,”_ Adam said between gritted teeth, red-faced and flustered.

Agathe only laughed. “Yes, yes—but I had to deliver your wedding gift, did I not?”

“But Nai Nai, we asked for no gifts,” Belle insisted.

“Really,” Adam said impatiently. “No need for a gift. At all.”

Agathe only chuckled. “Oh, you’ll want this one. Go on, open it up!”

“Now?” Adam asked reluctantly. Belle elbowed him lightly in the side. He sighed, taking the package and holding it between them as Belle untied the string. She unfolded the paper, revealing a wide volume. Turning back the cover, she saw an intricate, hand painted map of the globe.

“An…atlas?” Adam asked.

“It’s beautiful, Nai Nai,” Belle said politely, though she shared Adam’s confusion.

“It’s more than that,” Agathe said, chuckling at their perplexed expressions. “At first I considered giving you another enchanted mirror, but then I thought…simply seeing the places isn’t nearly so fun as _going_ to them, is it?”

Adam blinked. Then his eyes grew wide. He looked from Agathe to the book, to Agathe again. “Nai Nai…are you serious?” he gawked.

Agathe merely grinned. “Now, you could still journey to Picardy this evening if you wish. But there _is_ another place waiting for you… _here,”_ she said, placing one wrinkled finger on a spot near the other grand ocean, just inland of China’s coast.

Belle and Adam glanced at each other. She was smiling eagerly, and a grin swept over his own face.

Turning back to the book, Belle placed her fingers on the enchanted page. At her touch, it began to glow. Adam’s hand quickly reached for her own, fingers winding together. The light grew twofold.

And, in an instant—they vanished.

* * *

Belle stood, barefoot, fingers held out and just barely brushing the silk curtains before her. Gentle evening winds flitted through them, the only barrier between the balcony beyond and their room behind her.

 _Their_ room. She looked back over the matted floors beneath her feet, at the beautiful lamps casting a violet glow over the room…towards the low bed, surrounded by a pale golden canopy, lying at the chamber’s center. Belle felt her cheeks flush, her heart begin to flutter in anticipation. Suddenly anxious to step into the warm night air in nothing but a thin, shimmering chemise. Yet at the same time, wanting nothing more than to feel his warmth seep through it.

A gust pushed the curtains aside, and for a moment she saw him. Leaning against the railing, Adam stood wearing a loose linen shirt and breeches, his own feet bare against the cool tiled ground. It reminded Belle of the first time she’s seen him without the curse, and she smiled as she followed his gaze into the city below. Red and orange lights dotted the landscape, some moving peacefully through the streets, others painting immobile colors in the sky. The sky from the other side of the world.

“Belle?”

She looked back, realizing he’d spotted her. Heart racing anew, Belle slipped past the curtains, stepping shyly to his side.

Adam watched her come, unblinking. He had never been one to let his gaze wander, but tonight she wished it to. And it did—his eyes falling over her form slowly, carefully…passionately.

She approached him and he reached quickly for her hands, leaning his head down to rest on her own. “You are so beautiful,” he breathed, hot and deep.

Belle felt a gentle blush cross her cheeks and she stepped closer, aching for his warmth. His hands released hers and drew her against him, the fabric of her chemise doing little to stop his heat from flaring against her skin.

At the motion, however, something crinkled between them. Belle pulled back just enough to open her eyes and stare down at the corner of parchment sticking out from his shirt pocket.

Adam looked down, as if remembering it were there. He slipped it out and set it on the balcony ledge, bringing his hand back to tuck a strand of hair behind Belle’s ear. “A note from Agathe,” he whispered, distracted.

“What did it…say?” Belle asked, half distracted herself as he wove his fingers through her hair and kissed her forehead.

“To watch the sky,” he said, pressing his palm to her cheek and kissing the other before going on. “But I just was and didn’t see—”

A flash of light, and a distant boom that shook them to the center. Belle looked up in an instant, afraid for but the moment it took to find the source. She gasped, eyes wide and filled with bright red and golden light. “Those are…”

Another wave of _booms_ reached them, belated and dulled in the warm air. “Fireworks,” Adam finished for her. He laughed quietly then, a wide smile betraying his own delight at the sight. “I can’t believe she remembered…”

The lights were far off, only soft, distant rumbles like deep drums sounding from the horizon. They brightened they sky in bursts, raining over the horizon and filling Belle’s heart with a kind of magic even she had never experienced.

Of course, there was another kind of magic to experience tonight.

In fact, the lights soon blurred in her vision as warm lips pressed against her neck from behind, large hands brushing across her stomach and pulling her closer. Belle leaned back against him, acutely aware of the pleasure building deep inside as he gently caressed her in ways he’d never dared to before.

The skies finally dimmed, the last sparkling lights fading against the stars. They breathed shallowly, chests rising and falling as one.

Adam lifted his lips to her ear. “I love you, Belle,” he whispered, voice shaking. “I love you so much.”

She turned, reaching up to hold his face in her hands. Then, raising herself on her toes, she kissed him in such a way that left no doubt she loved him back.

His fingers gathered up the thin fabric at her back, pulling her in with a sudden desperation. As her knees grew weak he crouched down, lifting her into his arms without breaking the kiss. Belle’s legs encircled his waist, arms clinging to his shoulders, only vaguely aware of the thin curtains brushing past her shoulders.

Something beneath her. Soft sheets, encircling them both as Adam finally broke the kiss. And, staring at her in the dim, colored light…he smiled.

Smiling herself, Belle brought him back in earnest, thinking that this would, indeed, be quite a magical night.

* * *

#### Nothing Left to Fear

Belle huffed a strand of hair from her eyes, unable to reach it her current state. No less than one dozen pillows had been stuffed all around her at Mrs. Potts’ insistence, propping up her back and knees and leaving her sufficiently immobilized.

Belle just managed to wiggle a couple fingers free so she could turn the page of her book, now propped against her bulging stomach. She sighed, feeling silly. Silly, and _bored._

A faint _click_ rang out from the far end of the room, breaking Belle from her thoughts. She grinned as a figure slowly approached, glancing around quickly before slipping beneath the covers. Adam wasn’t supposed to see her during her confinement, after all. Which, of course, was the most ridiculous rule she could ever fathom.

And ridiculous rules were just _made_ to be broken.

“What in the—where _are_ you?” he whispered.

Belle laughed, managing to tug a couple pillows away so that he could reach her. As soon as he did he kissed her, deeply, leaving Belle a little breathless when he finally pulled back and nestled against her side. One large hand found her stomach a moment later, warm against the fabric.

“Any more kicking today?” he asked, eager.

Belle sighed, kneading a sore spot beneath her bulge. “Plenty, I can assure you.”

He hummed, rubbing his thumb in circles over her skin. “Baby, you must be _gentle_ on Maman,” he said.

As he said it, she felt the child move inside her again. Adam perked up, spreading his fingers wide and feeling the small bump moving about beneath.

“Do you think they know I’m here?” he wondered, turning back to her.

“Mmhmm,” she replied. “They’re starting to know your voice, it seems.”

Adam smiled wide, waiting until the movement calmed before shifting back up to his wife’s side. He weaved one arm around her shoulders, pressing his cheek against her hair.

“I miss you,” he breathed.

“I miss you too,” she said in earnest, hugging him as tightly as she could manage. “It’s barely been a week of this and I’m already bored out of my mind!”

In response, Adam pulled back, reaching into his pocket to offer up a small novel he’d brought along.

She sighed, though she took it eagerly. “This is truly ridiculous,” she said, knowing she’d been whining about this for the last week but unable to stop herself. “My mother was working our fields days before I was born, and with Eloise she went into labor during her morning classes!”

“Your mother isn’t a princess,” Adam noted.

Belle blanched, indignant. “That shouldn’t—!” She stopped quickly, noticing the smirk on Adam’s face. “You’re teasing me.”

“Yes,” he admitted, chuckling. “I’m sorry though, but Docteur Mathius is hard to argue with over such matters. I’ve tried…”

Belle fell back into her mountain of pillows, huffing a bit of hair from her eyes. “He underestimates me.”

“Absolutely,” Adam agreed.

“I mean, I admit taking Philippe for a ride last week was a little much, but I could at least walk the grounds. I would be perfectly fine.”

“Of course you would.”

Feeling more placated than before, Belle smiled once again. She glanced around the dark room, noting a half-dozen large canvases leaning against the walls and furniture. Most were nearly complete. “Still, I’m getting plenty done as it is,” she said proudly.

Adam smiled, then asked about her progress. She answered readily, nestling closer as they spoke of their respective days and fell easily into the familiarity they’d felt all these years.

“Remember when I used to do this?” he soon asked. “Sneak into your room past midnight, back when we were teenagers?”

Belle grinned, glancing back at the hidden passage across the room. “Hush. That never happened.”

He snickered, but only went on, leaning close so he could whisper. “Shall we do what we did then?”

Brightening, Belle finally gave in, turning towards him and smiling ear to ear.

* * *

“Just so you know, Docteur Mathius would murder me if he found you out here.”

Belle was still smiling, staring up at the night sky above. A few clouds flitted by, but she could still make out most of the constellations from where they sat along the low-leveled rooftop just outside her bedroom. “Docteur Mathius can fight me.”

Adam snorted quietly, no doubt already used to pregnancy’s tendency to make his wife a little more… _feisty_ than usual. “I think that’s on his list of things you must avoid,” he teased.

“I despise that list,” she said, smirking. Soon, however, she sobered. “Are you sure you’ll be all right?” she asked him.

“Hmm?”

“When baby comes,” she clarified. “You tend to be…you tend to _worry_ , is all,” she explained delicately.

Adam raised a brow. “You mean I overreact to everything,” he deadpanned.

“That’s…that’s not what I said,” she replied, hiding a smile.

He _pffted_ , waving it off. “I’m past all that,” he said casually, pulling her close again and staring back at the stars. “I’ll be _fine.”_

* * *

_THUMP! THUMP! THUMP!_

“Mrs. Potts!”

A muffled voice called out from the other side. Prince Adam’s voice, by the sound of it. Dawn was barely creeping through the shutters in the dim bedroom, and a young woman groaned in pain.

“I-I’m sorry,” Belle panted a moment later, sweat painting her brow.

“You cry out all you wish,” Soleil said, squeezing her hand. “All you wish, sweetheart.”

Belle nodded, arms beginning to quake where they propped her up.

“Another push now,” Mrs. Potts said, Sophie wringing out a cloth at her side. “I know it’s hard. But just remember that beautiful babe you’ll have when we’re through, hmm?”

Tears pooled in the corners of Belle’s eyes, but she nodded again. And, with the effort, she cried out.

_THUMP! THUMP! THUMP!_

“Mrs. Potts!” the prince shouted again, high and frantic. “You let me in or I’ll…I’ll…” He fell quiet for a moment, then _—“I’LL BREAK DOWN THE DOOR!”_

At that, Belle’s three companions broke into chuckles. “Poor man,” her mother said, “If he’s anything like Maurice was he’ll have worn a hole in the floor by now.”

“Mrs.…Mrs. Potts,” Belle gasped, looking up at the older woman where she stood. She panted for a moment, then went on. “Can’t he…come in?”

She frowned. “I’m sorry love, but this is no place for a man.”

“Please? I...” Belle stopped, grimacing against a fresh wave of pain. She made it through, swallowing as more sweat ran down her brow. “I admit, I’ve…been wishing…he could.”

Mrs. Potts watched the poor girl for a moment. The one who’d rarely asked for a thing all these years, and now in her greatest pain only wished to have her sweetheart at her side. And she thought of her own daughter, who had been without her own in her own labors. In her final moments. Belle seemed far from such a danger herself, but Mrs. Potts now couldn’t help but see a bit of Virginie in her eyes.

She sighed. “All right, love. All right.”

Leaving Belle to the care of Sophie and her mother, Mrs. Potts moved with a swift step to the door of the room.

Prince Adam was pacing the hall. His hair was a mess against his shoulders, as though he’d been running a nervous hand through it all night. And he seemed to be covered in nearly as much sweat as his wife. At the click of the door, his head whipped around and he raced towards the room.

Mrs. Potts, however, held a firm hand against the door, blocking his way. “Now, my prince, you must understand one thing,” she said firmly. “When you step inside this room, your title goes out the window, for _I_ am in charge here. Do I make myself clear?”

He blinked in surprise, but quickly nodded. Then he glanced over her shoulder, nervous, eyes trying to catch sight of his young wife in the room.

“And if you cannot keep your fears in check, you can march yourself right back out these doors,” Mrs. Potts continued. “It will do her no good to have you in a panic.”

He looked back at her then, expression somber. “Yes, Mrs. Potts. I—I understand.”

At her nod, he bolted past her and into the room. Soleil made to move away from Belle’s side, but Adam only crawled across the opposite side of the bed to reach her. She reached for him with a shaky hand and he caught it quickly, reaching an arm around her in support. Belle rested her head against his chest, eyes closing with momentary relief.

“All right, love,” Mrs. Potts said carefully, moving back in place. “Can you give me another push?”

Belle opened her eyes again, feeling stronger than before. “I can.”

Another hour passed, and dawn now filled the room with light at the child’s first cries. The infant was placed in its mother’s arms while Adam cradled her in his own.

“A boy,” Sophie whispered happily, turning back to help Mrs. Potts with the afterbirth.

Belle gazed down at him, all the pain from before replaced by relief and joy. Adam reached for her face, kissing her temple for a long moment before reaching down and touching his son’s soft cheek. His son, whose name had been destined long ago atop a nearby peak.

“Hello, Abel.”

* * *

A princess sat in bed, sinking into the soft covers as she held a novel in her lap. A warm summer’s evening, her day spent juggling a toddler while trying to complete her most recent commission.  

Another mural hung over the bed where she now sat, one that would never be sold. It depicted a wide valley bowl, with a shining lake at the center, and a rocky peak, where only one who knew to look might spot a great creature sitting beside a young woman as they gazed over the view.

Adam stood in the doorway, silent, watching while Belle read. It was a sight he hadn’t yet tired of, nor could he imagine he ever would—not with the faint smile that would cross her lips at times or the way she would pause and press the book to her chest as she pondered a particularly poignant scene. Perhaps the only sight that proved better was watching her read to Abel, curled up together by the warmth of an evening fire.

She still hadn’t noticed him there, so he moved quietly across the room. He settled on the end of the bed, cocking his head at her.

“Just…just wanted to finish this chapter before bed,” Belle said, eyes not leaving the page.

The corner of Adam’s mouth curled up in amusement. No, some things never changed.

Still, she only tempted him. He let the back of one finger brush up her leg. “Might I help you remove your stockings tonight, my love?” he asked casually.

She finally looked up at him then, a knowing look in her eye as she raised a brow. Still, she didn’t object, so he let his finger slip beneath the top of fabric, pulling it down but an inch. Then he leaned down, brushing his lips against the skin of her inner thigh.

Belle shuddered. The book fell a fraction, hazel eyes peeking out over the top. Pulsing. “You’re not going to let me finish this chapter, are you?” she whispered.

“Not if I can help it,” he mumbled, tugging the thin fabric down further and kissing the inside of her knee.

Belle grinned, teeth biting the corner of her lip as her breath caught. By the time his own lips had reached her ankle and begun their journey back up, the words on the page had been quite forgotten.

“Papa, what are you doing?”

Adam froze. Then slowly, he looked up. A little boy stood there in a wrinkled nightshirt, one stocking missing and a worn, stuffed bear held tight in his arms.

“Ah—Abel!” Adam said, flustered, pulling back in an instant and patting Belle’s leg awkwardly. “I was just…um…”

He looked to her for help, and quickly realized none was to be found. For Belle currently had her face pressed between the pages of the book once again, shoulders trembling in silent laughter. _Traitor!_ he thought, looking back quickly at their young son and beginning to sweat.

But then, an idea. “Maman had an owie,” Adam said, raising a finger. “And I was kissing it better.”

Belle’s silent amusement was now betrayed by a short, high-pitched laugh, which she only barely managed to stifle once again. The book slipped from her fingers, cheeks flushed underneath and eyes dancing with mirth as they glanced out at him.

“Oh no!” Abel said, entirely unaware of his parents’ amusement. “Maman, are you better now?”

Belle’s expression softened, though her eyes were still full of laughter. “Such a sweetheart,” she cooed, reaching out and resting a hand against the child’s cheek. “Yes, I’m all better.”

Abel reached two arms out, and Belle complied, lifting him from the floor and into her lap. He curled himself against her chest, closing his eyes and smiling happily.

Adam only sighed. “Buddy,” he said, moving over and resting his own head on Belle’s shoulder. He reached out, ruffling Abel’s already messy hair. “If you want that little sister you keep talking about, you’re going to have to learn to stay in bed.”

Belle smirked, glancing over at him. “You know,” she whispered. “I believe there may be one on the way already.”

Adam blinked. Then his eyes grew wide, flitting to her abdomen and back to her in a moment. His mouth fell open.

“I was going to give it a few more days,” she went on quietly, Abel’s breathing already falling into the gently rhythm of sleep. “But…I’m quite certain as it is.”

“Wow,” Adam breathed, still in shock. “I’m…”

“Not ready for this again?”

He smiled, then shook his head. “No. I’m just happy,” he said honestly. “Really happy.”

Belle appeared to release a breath she was holding, smiling back at him. He reached up, holding her face in his palm and kissing her for a long, drawn-out moment. Then he reached down and took Abel from her arms to return him to his own bed. He caught Belle reach for the book once more as he left the room, and chuckled under his breath.

Abel’s room was just down the hall, and he moved carefully but swiftly, anxious to return to Belle’s warmth. Reaching the small bed, Adam turned and pressed a quick kiss to the boy’s cheek.

“Goodnight, Abel,” he whispered. “I love you.”

Yet as he leaned over the mattress to tuck the child in, Abel’s grip tightened, his little face burying itself further against Adam’s neck. “Papa,” he said frantically, voice muffled. “Don’t go. I’m scared.”

Adam hesitated, then straightened again, holding Abel closer than before. “What are you scared of?” he asked quietly. He felt a bit of discomfort in his stomach, but went on. “…Monsters?”

“No,” Abel said, pulling back and looking at his father with furrowed brows. “Monsters are nice. Maman told me so.”

Adam couldn’t help but smile at that. “Ah, I see. What, then?”

Glancing around the room, Abel leaned close to Adam’s ear, covering it with one small hand as he whispered. “Papa Noël.”

Adam blinked. “Papa…Noël?”

The boy nodded in earnest. “He can get inside, even when we lock the windows,” he said, eyes growing wide. “It’s _scary.”_

Adam opened his mouth to reply, but closed it again. The kid had a point. “Don’t worry,” he said instead, an idea forming in his mind that left him barely suppressing a grin. “I’ll, uh, talk to Papa Noël and tell him to leave the gifts outside. Maman and I can put them out instead. Okay?”

“M’kay,” Abel agreed, sighing and resting back against his shoulder.

Chuckling quietly, Adam moved towards the little balcony window, looking out over the gardens below. They were white with fresh snow, blending into the trees and hills beyond. He stared out at the scene, pondering what lie beyond. Their kingdom, peaceful and prosperous and their people, happy and free. He’d already begun to see the effort it took to make it that way, but he’d also witnessed what happened when that effort wasn’t given. And that knowledge empowered him.

Feeling thoughtful, Adam turned back, repositioning Abel in his arms as his eyes moved slowly over the dark room. A small oil lamp sat atop the fireplace mantle, left burning low and casting warm orange shadows over the room. The walls were covered with friendly figures—smiling teacups, playful candlesticks, a dancing suit of armor—painted lovingly by the child’s mother. Adam looked at the work of Belle’s hand, at the books and soft plush animals scattered across the floor, back at the child in his arms—the small, breathing creation of their love.

It was too much. Adam felt his throat grow tight in an instant, the simple beauty of it all rushing over him like floodwaters and threatening to spill out.

A hand on his arm. “Adam?” someone asked softly. “What’s wrong?”

He looked over. Belle was beside him—he hadn’t even heard her enter—looking at him with concern. He must have lingered here longer than he realized.

“Nothing,” he answered a bit sheepishly, lifting a shoulder to dab at wet eyes. “Just, well…being a papa has turned me into a blubbering fool, it seems.”

Belle laughed softly, weaving her arm through his and leaning against his shoulder. He shifted Abel to one arm, wrapping the other around her, staring back out the window at the dark night sky.

_“He can get inside, even when we lock the windows.”_

Abel’s frightened voice, echoing in the back of his mind. Adam frowned. Perhaps Papa Noël didn’t pose any threat, but he knew far too well of those who _could_ get past locked windows and guarded doors.

And suddenly, the darkness outside seemed to creep back into his heart once more. Memories of red eyes, of fluid mirrors and a thick, swirling mist. An old, buried fear—a fear that everyone he loved would somehow be taken from him once again.

He pulled Abel closer, the arm holding Belle starting to tremble. “Can I really be happy?” he asked quietly. “Can this—all of this—can it really last?”

She looked back up at him, eyes growing soft. “It can.”

“But how can you know?” he whispered, almost desperate for her answer.

“I can feel it,” she said in earnest. She paused, however, looking somewhat impish. “That and, well…I may have had Agathe look ahead for me.” 

Adam raised his brows. “Really?”

“Mmhmm,” she smiled. “She said there’s nothing to fear. A few bumps in the road, of course, and more than a few surprises—but nothing left to fear.”

Adam’s chest swelled in relief. He pulled Belle close, kissing her softly in the darkness. A darkness that, for the first time, offered nothing but serenity and peace.

It was a tale as old as time, he supposed: a man who loved his wife with all he was, a young father overwhelmed from the joy brought by his child. For he certainly wasn’t the only one. Yet at the same time, Adam couldn’t imagine another soul possibly feeling the same joy he felt in this very moment. And he knew no one had come to their own happiness in the way he had.

He pulled back then, heart too full for words, gazing at the face of the woman he adored.  

At the friend, who had saved him from despair.

At the beauty…who had loved a beast. 

## The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. All my love, greensearcher.


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